


Britain's Worst Nightmare

by MrsLuigiVargas



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 03:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1140659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsLuigiVargas/pseuds/MrsLuigiVargas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What are you two doing here; I thought you were sentenced to house arrest!"<br/>"Consider your vital regions conquered."<br/>England's horrible nightmare and how he copes with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Guilty!”

England was watching a trial take place on a TV in a building’s lobby.  He could see that France and America were the ones being sentenced.

“I sentence you both to house arrest,” He heard.  “Your sentence will last 1 ½ years.”

England smirked.  ‘Well that will keep them busy for a while,’ he thought smugly.  He walked out of the courtroom, missing the rest of the trial, and strolled back to his house.

* * *

England was woken up by the doorbell the next morning, and boy was he annoyed.  It was six o’clock in the morning on a bloody _Saturday_ , and the bloody bell wouldn't stop ringing!  He untangled himself from the mess of blankets, taking one to cover himself with as he staggered down the stairs to the door and opened it.  

“Yes?” he yawned. 

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

England was wide awake now.  “America!?!”

“What about me, Angleterre?”

“France!?!”  England looked at them in shock.  “What are you two doing here; I thought you were sentenced to house arrest?!”

“We were!”  America affirmed. 

“But you see, with our charms we convinced the judge to let us choose where to serve our sentences.”

“And the first place I thought of was yours!”

“Oui.”

“Uh...huh...”  England slowly said, a pit of dread forming in his stomach.  They have to stay here?  With him?  For 1 ½ years?!  He tried to calm himself down, but it was barely working. 

“Hey dude, you got any burgers in this place?”  America (loudly) asked, pushing past England to get to his kitchen.  England was too stunned to move to stop him. 

“Onhonhonhonhon~, I wonder what Angleterre has in his bedroom~” Again, England was frozen with shock, so he didn't register France prancing up the stairway.

* * *

 

Minutes passed.  France came back downstairs, and America popped his head through the kitchen doorway.  He appeared to have found a burger, and he began to describe to England his heroic quest to rescue it from the depths of England’s fridge.  

“Oh...d-don't talk with...with your mouth full...”  England managed to stammer halfheartedly.  France frowned.  

“What’s wrong sourcils?  Aren’t you happy to see us?”

“Yeah, ‘specially with that extended sentence and all-”

“What did you say?”  England abruptly interrupted.  

“Oh, we didn't tell you?  Sorry dude.”  America shrugged.  England’s head mechanically rotated around to face France, who looked solemn.  

“Oui, in exchange for our little convenience the judge extended our sentence to ten years.”

“T-ten y-years?”  England squeaked.  He started to hyperventilate.  

“Yep!”  America chirped.

England’s blanket fell to the floor as those ten years played out right in front of his eyes.  America being too loud and annoying.  France suggesting perverted things.  America filing his house with hamburgers and soda.  France spending money to buy expensive wines and foods and perfumes.  Him having to eat hamburgers.  Him having to eat French food.  No one eating his food.  Them prying in his life them looking through his stuff them finding all his secrets for ten years straight toomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomuchtoomu-”

“No.”

France raised an eyebrow.  “No?”

“No...no...no...no...no...no...”

“You okay Iggy?”

England didn’t hear America, still repeating his mantra in a panicked haze.

France turned to America.  “Why don't you go and make him some...hamburgers?  Maybe he’ll come back to his senses.”

“Sure!  The hero is on it!”  America ran for the kitchen again. 

France turned to England, whose wild emerald eyes were darting everywhere.  France started walking towards the Brit.  As France stalked closer, England backed away.  Soon his back bumped against the wall and he had nowhere to run as France pinned his hands above his head.  

England’s mantra sped up.  America didn't seem like he was coming back anytime soon.  On top of that, England found he couldn't free himself, and his legs were paralyzed.  He was powerless.  

“You’re mine now,” France murmured.  

Their faces were getting closer.  

6 inches.

5 inches.

4 inches.  

3 inches.

2 inches.  France’s rape face took up all his vision.

1 inch.

½ an inch.

¼ of an inch.  

France leaned even more forward, so close that their lips-

“NO!”  England woke up and fell out of bed, hitting his head on the floor.

* * *

After falling out of his bed, England laid there, half on the bed and half on the floor, trying to catch his breath.  

“Just a dream,” he whispered to himself.  

“Just a dream,” he said aloud again, starting to chuckle.  

“It was just a dream!”  England yelled, his laughter filling the air.  He laughed loud and long and true, simply happy that the entire horrifying ordeal was just a figment of his imagination.  

England’s laughter was interrupted by the doorbell.  Undeterred, England, after putting on a robe, walked down the stairs with a giant smile on his face and opened the door.  

“Good morning!” he sang.  

“Onhonhonhonhon~” “Hey Iggy!” 

England came back down to earth to find America...and France...at his doorstep...each with suitcases......................

England’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fainted. 


	2. Chapter 2

England opened his eyes to find himself against the wall again.   


‘Just like the dream…bugger.’  


France was facing away from him, and it turned out he was looking at America, who had finally come in and had a ‘WTF’ look on his face.

“Bonjour, America,” France said.  


America looked disgusted.  “Dudes, if you're going to do _that_ , then at least take it upstairs!”  


England was horrified.  Surely, he wouldn't just brush it off as something like that!  He opened his mouth to object, but France covered it (while still restraining England’s hands with only one of his own).  “Mmphf!”  


America cocked his head.  “What?”  


France shrugged.   


‘Come on you stupid legs, move!’  


America grinned.  “OK, so I found this really sweet-looking door down the hall, and it’s all mysterious and shizz so I’m totally gonna check it out ‘cause it’s the hero’s job to investigate anything mysterious!”  


France smirked.  “Go ahead.”

“HAHAHAHAHA!”  America, fist raised in triumph, ran off.  Seconds later England heard a distant door slam.  He couldn't help but wonder what room America was talking about – “Cool!  There are glowy multicolored thingies in here!”  - and ohmygod he’sinhisblackmagicroom.  


England’s legs gave out and he collapsed, sliding down against the wall.  France released him and watched England pale. “Angleterre, you're making this easy for me, you know,” he commented.  England tried to respond, but when he opened his mouth...nothing came out.  He couldn't talk.  England frantically grabbed his throat, babbling silent words, trying to produce sound from his voice box.  It wasn't working.  France’s rape face came back.  “Onhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhon~ come, let’s take Amérique’s suggestion, shall we?”

‘No.  Nonononono...’  


France picked up England with surprising strength, carrying him up the stairs fireman-style over his shoulder.  It was at this moment that England’s limbs finally responded to his brain, and he kicked and punched his captor, soundlessly screaming his protests.  But his efforts were all in vain, as France never hesitated in his slow trek up the stairs.   


France reached the door of England’s bedroom and opened it, going inside.  He closed and locked it behind him.  France looked around curiously, appearing to be looking for something.   


‘Put me down put me down put me down put me down Put Me Down!”  


France looked at England in surprise.  England was surprised too, as his voice abruptly started working again.   


“My voice...”  


“Well, Angleterre, it looks like your voice came back.  Now I can at least hear you say my name~”  


“Not on your life.  Now put me down, you bloody frog!”  


France hummed in response, reaching into one of England’s drawers and fishing out an abundance of rope.   


‘Since when did I have rope in my bedroom?’  


France carried England over to his bed and dumped him on it.  As soon as he hit its surface, England rolled off and bolted for the door.  He reached for the knob and turned.  And turned.  And turned... ...the door wouldn't open.   


“No...”  England jiggled the door furiously.  “No, this can’t be!  This can’t be happening!”  


France, who was watching England's failed escape attempt in amusement, crept up behind the panicking British man and grabbed him from behind.  “Now what’s the rush, Angleterre?” he whispered (seductively) into England’s ear.  “The fun has only just begun~”  


England desperately struggled against France’s grip.  “Let me go let me go let me go let me - gah!”  


O-of course France’s hand had to wander down _there_.  Damn that bloody - stoooooop...  


While England was...occupied, France managed to drag his limp body back onto the bed, laying him on his back.  By the time England regained his senses, one of his arms were tied to a bedpost.   


“Hey...what?!”  England tried to move his arm, but it wouldn't budge.  He tried to get off the bed, but France pinned his chest down with his knee, and tied his other arm.  France went on to restrain England’s thrashing legs as well.  He left England’s knees bent on purpose.   


France smiled down at his handiwork, removing his knee.  England stared back with fear in his eyes.  


France’s rape face showed itself again.  “The stage is set!  Finally, the beginning of the show!” he proclaimed.  His hands rested on England’s bare chest.   


“What do you mean the beginning of the - ah!”  


France’s thumb began rubbing circles on England’s...chest (you know what I really mean, right?).  England tried not to make any noise, he really did.  He put his heart and soul into his efforts.  Too bad his body couldn't cooperate.   


“Ohhh...”  


“Ah, that’s the spirit!”  France rubbed faster circles.    


“Ahh...stop it...France, please...please stop...France...”  


“Hearing you beg is so refreshing Angleterre.  I should make you do it more often~!”  


Another moan escaped England’s throat.  “You...I could...have...you...arrest - ah!  - arrested f-for sex...sexual a-assault...”  


“Then I’ll have the judge extend my house arrest sentence.  Who knows how long it would be?  But then I’d be able to play with you for even longer~”  


“D-do you - nngh - even kn-know - ohh - what...you’re d-doing?  Mmmm...”  England panted.   


“Of course I do!”  France purred, stopping his hand movements.  He leaned down toward England’s face, their noses only a foot apart, and looked England dead in the eye.  “Consider your vital regions conquered.”  


France's voice seemed to echo all around England’s head until it all blended into one jumbled mess of sound.   


“No...No. No. No. No. No. No. No...”  


France pouted. “Aw, you were being such a perfect toy earlier!” he whined.  “Oh well, I know a way to get you back like that!”  He resumed his hand motions.   


France started to lean in closer.   


6 inches  
5 inches  
4 inches.   
3 inches.  
2 inches.  France’s rape face was all he could see.  
…  
...   
…Why did he stop?  


England was confused.  What would prompt France to stop?  He felt his answer soon.  While France was leaning in, his hand made its way to England’s cheek.  It was now tracing his side.  
Jaw, neck, shoulder, chest...England’s eyes widened as he figured out where France’s finger’s destination was.  England started to squirm.  He...he wouldn't-  


His chant subconsciously started again (as best he could; France’s other hand was still tracing circles on his bare chest). Stomach, waist...hips...back to waist?  And…hisfingerwashookingthewaistbandofhisboxers.   


France’s finger started sliding across, following the path of the band.  It was sliding...and sliding...and sliding... The finger finally stopped at the center of the front of England's body.  England held his breath (again, as best he could; France was apparently still good at multitasking).  The finger was on the move again, and this time, it was going...down.   


“NONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONONON-!”

* * *

 

England’s eyes flew open with a gasp to find himself in the same position he was in the dream...with France’s rape face an inch from his own.  England started to hyperventilate, confusing France and making his rape face fade away, but the Frenchman still didn't move.  


Then England let out a blood-curdling scream.   


Three things happened at once: France jerked away, America came running, and England rolled off the kitchen table he was resting on.   


“A-Angleterre?”  France tentatively asked, stepping towards England’s side of the table.  England got up and practically dived under the same table again to get away; he then scrambled up onto his feet and dashed for the door.  


America hesitantly opened the door, and England plowed through the doorway, down the walkway, and out to the street.   


“Iggy, wait!”  America called, running after him.  France followed, but England was already two blocks ahead of them; they had no hope of catching up.  They stared off in the direction England left, thoroughly confused.   


“We just wanted to get him back his luggage...”  France said hopelessly.   


“Yeah, though those airport pranks were the bomb!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: America was talking about a prank. What he's talking about: Every time the nations had to take a plane (or a train) to World Meeting in another country or city, France and/or America would steal some of England's luggage, forcing him to buy new things and be very irritated. England never did figure out why his things kept disappearing...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...England’s kinda sorta…broken right now, and he will be for a while, so he’ll definitely be OOC. Some of the other characters might accidently be OOC as well.

Italy was walking around Germany’s house when he heard noise coming from Germany’s bedroom.  Trying to be brave, he crept into the room and decided to look under the bed.

“England!  What are you doing in Germany’s house?”

“Well…it feels...safer, here…”

Italy brightened.  “Ve~ you’re right!  Even though he’s big and scary, Germany always keeps me safe and I’ll bet that he can keep you safe too!  I’ll go ask him!”  He skipped off, humming a tune.

England watched Italy’s feet leave his sight.  He didn’t bother getting out of his fetal position, if Germany decided to kick him out then he would have a hard time doing so.  England heard two sets of footsteps approaching his location, and soon saw a pair of brown and a pair of black boots stop in front of him.  Germany’s head came next.

“England,” Germany sighed; he didn’t know if he wanted to deal with this or not.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“…I-I don’t know.  Hiding?”  England smiled nervously.

Germany frowned.  England didn’t usually act like this.  Something was wrong.  Very wrong.  And it was starting to bug him.  He rubbed his temples.  “Are you going home-”

“NO.”  England interrupted.  Germany could see he was about to panic, his eyes gave it away.

He sighed again.  “If you’re going to stay here, so be it.  There is an extra bed in the guestroom that Italy is using.”  “  Ve~”

“Er…thanks you.”  England hesitantly crawled out from under the bed, Germany helping him stand on his feet.  Silence filled the room.

“Ve~ England, do you want pasta?”

“T-that would be lovely, chap, thank you.”

“Ve~!”  Italy cheered, running off.  The other two blondes watched him go, the awkward silence wrapping around them like a blanket.

“So…”  Germany ventured, “How did you manage to get under my bed?”

England looked sheepish.  “I ran.”

“From your home?” the German asked, surprised.

“Yes…I would rather not discuss why…”

“I see.”

Germany started to lead England down the hall to the kitchen from where the smell of pasta was wafting.

“England, you are aware that there is a World Conference tomorrow, correct?”

“Oh, I almost forgot about that.”

Germany sighed.  “Well, as always, you are expected to be in your assigned seat on that day.”  He continued walking, however he noticed England had stopped following.  “England?”  Germany turned around to find England frozen in his spot, paling and with unfocused eyes.  “England!”

“Ve~, pasta’s ready~!”  Italy sang, entering the scene.  “Doitsu, what’s wrong with England?”

Gritting his teeth, Germany responded, “Panicking.”  Noticing England beginning to sway dangerously, Germany rushed over to grab him by the shoulders and steady him.

“England.”  Said nation’s breathing was fast and irregular.  “England!”  Germany yelled sharply, “England, snap out of it!”

England closed his eyes, trying to pull himself together.  “O-okay.  Sorry.”

“What the heck is wrong with you?”

“N-nothing.  Nothing’s wrong.  I’ll sit there…next to America…and…”  He swallowed thickly.  “And France…”

Germany didn’t buy it.  “Do you not want to sit next to those two?”

“N-no, not really.”

Germany sighed.  “If you prefer, I can switch your seat for tomorrow,” He told England, suspecting that to be the root of the Briton’s problems.  “However this will be a temporary thing.”

“O-of course.  Thank you.”

Italy tugged England’s arm.  “Ve~ the pasta’s getting cold,” he griped, starting to pull England towards the kitchen.

“Oh…right.  The pasta.”  England allowed Italy to guide him to the food, Germany following behind.

* * *

 

After eating, the three nations hung out in the living room.  Germany was doing paperwork on a desk in the corner of the room, Italy was drawing, and England appeared to be reading a book.  In actuality, he was still freaking out about the dream.  It might as well been real!  He unconsciously shuddered.

Between signing and reading documents, Germany watched England.  He didn’t know why he was this concerned for his former enemy, but he was.  Italy must have gotten through to him, he concluded.

Speaking of Italy, he, oblivious to the atmosphere as always, happily skipped up to England and gave him the drawing he had just finished.

“For you, ve~”

England accepted it and looked it over with surprise.  “Hey, that’s me…”

“And China and Russia and America and Big Brother France!”

“…France?”

“Ve~”

England looked uncomfortable, Germany noted.

More time passed.  England spoke up.  “I…I’m going to retire for the night.”

Germany looked at the clock.  “It’s only seven thirty.”

“I’m tired.  F-from running.”

“Ah.”

Ve~ England~” Italy whined, hugging England from behind, making the man flinch.  “Can’t you go to bed, later?”

“Italy, leave him alone,” Germany sighed, “He needs his rest.  England, I’ll show you to your room.”

Germany led England to a guestroom at the end of the hall.  England looked around a little, putting Italy’s drawing on the nightstand.  Germany cleared his throat, causing England to turn around.

“Here,” Germany held out some clothes.  “They might be big, but they will do for now.”  He had noticed that all England was wearing was a robe.

“Ah, thank you.”  There was a shirt, pants, and socks; they obviously all belonged to Germany.  Germany left, closing the door and leaving England alone in the room.  England changed into the clothes – they _were_ too big – and sat down on the bed, staring at Italy’s gift.

* * *

 

Germany tried to do more paperwork, but he found his mind kept wandering to the condition of his guest.  England was acting quite different from how he usually acts, and it most likely had something to do with the reason he ran all the way from his own house in London to Germany’s house in Berlin.  Even Italy noticed something, Germany knew, as when was sitting back down at his desk Italy asked, “Doitsu~, is England okay?  He’s not as scary as he always is.”

Germany replied that he didn’t know, but now the urge to find out has become stronger, because the more times England repeated that nothing was wrong, Germany was even more sure something major was going on, and he had no idea what to do about it.  Finally, Germany couldn’t take the inner turmoil anymore and abruptly rose from his chair, striding to the room where England was supposed to be sleeping.  He figured that if he checked up on England and he was fine, then he could go get some work done.  Germany knocked on the door, and, hearing nothing, slowly creaked the door open.

The first thing that Germany saw was that the lights were still on.  The second thing that he noticed was Italy’s drawing on the nightstand with an open bottle of Whiteout next to it, the cap lying directly on the wood.

Germany winced.  ‘I’ll have to wipe that off later.’  He walked to the table and capped the bottle, putting it in the drawer.  His eyes drifted the drawing itself.

‘America, England, Russia, China…didn’t Italy say France was in this picture?  Where is he?’

Holding the paper closer to the light, Germany looked closer and discovered France _was_ there – he was just removed with the Whiteout.

‘Why would England take out France from the picture?’

“No…”

Startled, Germany’s head whipped to face England, who was on the bed.  Was he still awake?  No, he was asleep…so he was sleep talking.  Odd.

England’s face was flushed and he was panting and groaning.  ‘Just what is he dreaming about?  ...Wait…ohcrapnevermind.’

Germany also observed that contrary to the images he was desperately trying to wipe out of his mind, England looked distressed, and by the sound of it he was genuinely refusing something…what was it?

“Stop…France, please…don’t-don’t do this…”

France?  Why would England be dreaming about France?

“Ah…k-keep y-your fil-ah-filthy…hands a-away from…my…my…”

His what?  Germany couldn’t help but be curious about what England’s dream was, even though he was probably intruding on his privacy.  He snapped out of his thoughts soon enough to see England mouth ‘Big Ben.’

‘Okay…’

Germany started to back away (very slowly) when England spoke up again.

“…I don’t...want to…want…to t-taste the…Eiffel-mmph…”

The Eiffel…Tower?  Why would anyone even consider tasting the Eiffel Tower?  Curious, Germany tried to figure it out.  Eiffel Tower…Paris…France…wait a minute.

In some of Germany’s interactions with other nations, he had witnessed various ways other countries had described others’…sexual exploits…using a variety of phrases.  He recalled his bruder talking about ‘France’s Eiffel tower’ in some vulgar way more than once.  So…tasting the Eiffel tower would mean……

Well…Scheiße.

Suddenly, England started violently thrashing, legs kicking and hands clawing at the sheets.  His breathing became shallower and faster and his moans became more frequent.

“Don’t!  Don’t put...please no!  Don’t put…it in, n-not th-there, no-augh!”  England was screaming, his motions getting increasingly more violent and erratic.

Germany had no idea what to do; none of his manuals prepared him for this!  He cautiously crept up to England and grabbed him by the shoulders.  England tried squirming away, eyes still closed.

“England!  England wake up!”  Germany yelled, shaking the sleeping Briton.

England’s eyes flew open and wide emerald green met stern ice blue.  “Oh…Germany…”

Germany watched as England’s eyes slowly dulled.  “You will tell me when you are ready?”  It was a question, but Germany made it sound like an order.

“Yes.”  England responded almost automatically.

Germany got up and started to leave.  “Do you need anything else?”

“N-no, I’m fine.”

Germany nodded, shutting off the lights and closing (more like slamming) the bedroom door.  England was left in complete darkness.  Unnerved, he buried himself under the covers, tossing and turning himself to sleep.

* * *

 

England was in the dream again, and France was smirking at him triumphantly.  England couldn’t meet his gaze even if he tried; he was just too tired and he felt like he was going to cry and there was some liquid on his legs and oh, the pain…

He registered France’s laughter before his vision clouded and he lost consciousness.

All England could see was black, which abruptly changed to a blinding white that made England squint.  But that didn’t help him.  The light dimmed and, blinking, made out France standing over him and…his boxers were back on.

‘What the…’

France’s mouth was moving, and soon England was able to hear his voice.

“…set!  Finally, the beginning of the show!”

“Wh-what?  But I thought-ah!”

France was rubbing circles on England’s chest.  “Hm?  Why Angleterre, you look confused,” he said in a sickly sweet voice. He leaned in closer.  “I wonder why that is?”

“I…I…”  England moaned.  France responded by capturing England’s lips with his own. England’s eyes widened as he tried to break the kiss, but with a sweep of France’s fingers England let out another groan and France managed to get his tongue into the Englishman’s mouth.  England, to his horror, found that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bite the tongue that had invaded his mouth.  He felt France smirk against his lips.

France eventually pulled away, the smirk still on his face and a trail of saliva connecting their lips.  “You see, Angleterre,” he began, stroking England’s cheek while his other thumb continued to rub circles on his chest, making England tremble, “Because these moments we are sharing are so... _magnifique_ ,” What?  “It is simply natural for them to keep playing and not stop.”

“W-nngh-what?  N-no…”

“No?”  France teased.

“N-no, I…I don-ohh-don’t want this, I-mmm…”

“Sure you do,” the Frenchman purred.  “We’ll be having this much fun forever…and ever…and ever…”

France’s voice echoed all around in England’s head until he could hardly concentrate; however, he did feel France’s finger tracing down his neck, chest, waist…

He woke up in a cold sweat, out of breath and stifling a scream. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Italic sentences that seem like they don’t belong are mini-flashbacks. And Canada’s dialogue will be in italics as well.

“We’re here,” Germany announced as he parked his car.  He, Italy, and England got out, dressed in their uniforms.  Or at least, Italy and Germany were, England was dressed in an old t-shirt and pants of Germany’s, which he was drowning in even though Italy had stitched them up so they didn’t fall off  his body.  The three of them entered the World Conference Building, the clock in the lobby reading 8:45.  Rubbing his eyes, England followed Germany and Italy to the Conference Room, where Japan and all the other Allies, even America, were loitering around the large table.  As Germany went to set up at his seat on the table, England wandered over to the area where the Allies usually sat.  Along the way, he stumbled into Japan.

“Oh…hello, Japan.”

“Konnichiwa, Igirisu.  How was your morning?”

“Exhausting.”

“Oh?  How so?”

“I...didn’t sleep well last night…”

“Really?”

“Yeah…”  England yawned.  “I had…some kind of insomnia…”

“Ah.  Would you like some tea?”

“S-sure.”

Japan went over to the buffet table and poured cups of tea for the two of them.  Meanwhile, Germany was talking with the rest of the Allies.

“Hey, Germany, you were just with Iggy, right?”

“Yes.”  Germany replied, assuming America was talking about England.

“Where did you find him?”  France asked.  “When we visited his house he took one look at us and ran.  We were wondering where he went.”

“He showed up at my house.”

“ **Your** house?”  America exclaimed, “Dude, how’d he get all the way there?”

“He told me he ran.”

France, America, and Germany contemplated this information while Russia and China were left out of the loop, confused.  “Anyway,” Germany began, “I wanted to talk to you four about your seats.”

“What about them?”  Russia asked.

“France,” Germany continued, “You said England ran because of you two, correct?”

“Oui.”

“Then it may be best if he did not sit between you and America, otherwise his productivity during the meeting will be negatively affected.”

China nodded.  “That makes sense, aru”

America, however, had a blank look on his face.  Germany sighed.  ‘I swear to Gott…’

“If England sits next to you or France he won’t do as well.”

“Oh!  I knew that!  HAHAHAHAHA!”  England (who was on the other side of the room) nearly dropped his teacup.

“As I was saying,” Germany grit out, growing irritated (this was not a good sign for the meeting), “For this conference, France will be sitting in England’s seat, Russia, you will sitting in England’s seat, and England will sit in Russia’s seat.”

Russia wandered off to sit in his new seat.  America and France stared at Germany.  “…?”

China facepalmed.  Germany, now more than a little irritated, shoved a diagram at them.

“…Oh!  Okay!” they chorused.  Germany took the diagram and showed it to England.  After England analyzed it, he went to his new seat as well, even though it was T-minus five minutes until the beginning of the meeting.

“Hey Russia?”  England asked.

“What is it, comrade?”

“Would…would you do me a favor?”

Russia grinned.  “It depends on what you are asking of me.”

“C-can you make sure I don’t f-fall asleep during this conference?”

Thinking about it, Russia answered, “Da, I will.  But on one condition.”

“What is it?”

“You will stop summoning me to your place when you do your magic, da?  You interrupt me while I drink my vodka.”

“Sure.”  England immediately replied.  Russia blinked.  He hadn’t really expected England to agree so quickly.  Well, now he had to keep the promise.

The clock struck 9 o’clock, and all the nations sat down and the World Conference began.  This time, it took longer than usual for the room to erupt into chaos.  This was mainly because England was more focused on furiously taking notes on what he could (he was trying to pretend France wasn’t just one person away from him) rather than criticizing America’s opinions, and France was more focused on watching England (in concern) than disagreeing or flirting with people.

* * *

 

After a few hours of getting nowhere, Germany allowed the nations to take a 45-minute lunch break.  As soon as he announced the break, most of the nations ran for the dining hall, leaving the other nations wondering what the heck that was about.  Soon the remaining nations filed out of the Conference Room at a much calmer pace, until only England and Germany were left.

_**\---30 Minutes Later---** _

Germany packed the remains of his lunch and decided to go for a stroll around the building’s halls to kill the last 15 minutes until the other nations came back.  He left the room, leaving England sitting at the other end of the table.

**_ \---5 Minutes Later--- _ **

Satisfied that his muscles were stretched out enough, Germany decided to head back and make sure he was prepared for the second half of the Conference (though he knew it was almost impossible to prepare for these things).  Along the way, he found England standing in front of a conference room (it was a different one; a spare that is very rarely used.  A waste of space if you asked him).

“Hallo, England,” He greeted, walking past the nation, who appeared to be waiting for someone.  Suddenly, Germany felt his arm be violently pulled behind him.  Caught off guard, he couldn’t stop himself from being shoved into the room.

* * *

 

The spare conference room wasn’t anything spectacular; it was a very large space with an equally proportional table that was folded over, and a multitude of stacked chairs against the wall.  It was a room that was for use if anything ever happened to the usual conference room, and it had to be equipped to hold the many nations that usually attended the Conferences.

Germany stumbled into the spacious area, hearing the door shut behind him.  He whirled around to face his attacker…who happened to be England.  What?

“England!”  Germany barked.  “What was the purpose of bringing me here?!”  When England didn’t answer, Germany became angrier.  “Tell me!”

England nervously looked away.  “W-well…I need to…to tell you some things…”

“Like what?”

England faltered.  “Well…like…um…I…”

“Like what?!!”  Germany roared, advancing towards England.  The Brit managed to meet Germany’s glare and the two held their gazes for a split second before England fell forward, resting his head on Germany’s shoulder.

“Wh-what-” Germany protested, but paused when he felt his shirt become damp.

‘Why is my shirt-wait, is he _crying_?’

Indeed, England had started to shake with silent sobs.  Germany awkwardly wrapped his arm around England, hesitantly rubbing circles on his back.  This went on for a minute or two.

“England…?”  Germany wearily asked, “What the hell happened to you?”

England took a deep, shaky breath.  “I…I…”  He hiccupped.  “I-it was in a…a dream…in my house…with A-America…and…and F-France and…”

France?

_“Stop…France, please…don’t-don’t do this…”_

Huh.

England began to ramble faster and faster, to the point where Germany could only pick out a few words at a time.  So what he heard was: burgers, extended, France, kissed, France, rope, bed, tied, France, regions, finger.

Was zum Teufel…?                                                                                                                                                                           

“England.”  Germany interjected, which somehow managed to quiet England.  He (gently) pushed England away from him and held him at arm’s length, looking over his red, puffy eyes and his tear-stained cheeks.  Embarrassed, England looked away.  Germany, sighing, sat on the ground, legs crossed.  England stared at him questionably.

“Well?”  Germany asked, gesturing to the space next to him.  England sat down next to Germany; close enough so their sides touched.  He hugged his knees close to his chest as the words about his dream tumbled from his lips.  Needless to say, Germany was horrified.  How could someone create such a situation subconsciously like that?  All of England’s actions and reactions made sense now.

“…England…about your seat…”

“Wh-what about it?  Will it…”  He trailed off.

“I think it would be best if your seat remains as it is until this…ordeal…it taken care of.”

England rested his head against Germany’s shoulder once more.  “Thank you.”

The two men sat in a semi-comfortable silence as Germany pondered his new information and England rested (not sleeping, mind you).

“England...what are you going to do after the Conference?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?  Aren't you going back to your home?”

England abruptly sat up.  “NO.”

“Then where will you stay?”

“I d-don’t know, b-but not there!”

“England you have to go back to-”

“NO!”  England yelled, standing up to face Germany “Don’t make me go back there!”

Germany got up as well.  “But England-”

“No, I’m not going back; I don’t want to go back!”

“England you need to go back to your home, who knows how long it will last unattended the way you left it!”

England grabbed the front of Germany’s jacket, pulling him closer.  “I can’t go back there, I can’t!  It’ll…it…it’ll happen…”  England broke into sobs.  “It will…happen again if…if I go back…”  He choked out.

‘Dummkopf!  Of course he won’t want to go back, that’s where the dream happened!”

“Okay,” Germany sighed.  “You…considering the circumstances…I suppose you can continue to stay at my home…”

The way that England stopped moving and closed his eyes Germany wasn’t sure if his proposal was even heard.  And then he felt two arms wrap around his neck.

“T-thank you, thank you s-so much, Germany I-I promise I won’t be a burden, I-I won’t even cook i-if you don’t want me to, I…”  England could feel tears starting to fall from his eyes again.  Blast these tears…

Once again, Germany felt his jacket dampen.  He cautiously restarted his way of comforting England as the Briton began sobbing once again.

* * *

 

France furrowed his brow as he listened to England and Germany’s conversation through the door.  He was making his way back to the Conference Room to see if he could find England there so he could ask him some questions about yesterday when he heard England’s voice down the hall.  The yelling led him to that dingy extra Conference Room near the back of the building.  He considered entering, but then heard Germany and decided to eavesdrop instead.  What he gathered from their conversation left him with even more questions.  Why doesn’t England want to live at his own house anymore?  What happened there that made him not want to go?  Why is Germany letting him stay at his house?  Why would England promise not to cook?  If it was possible, France was even more confused than he was before.

And then he heard England cry.

Now, France and England weren’t always the best of friends; they were more like “longtime acquaintances” who were often found “bickering for bickering’s sake” (or at least that’s what those aliens said anyway).  But when the man he knew for hiding his weaknesses is openly bawling in front of someone ( _Germany_ , no less!), France couldn’t help but feel his stomach drop.

“England, we need to get going; there are only 5 minutes left until the meeting resumes.”

“R-right.”

At this, knowing that the two could exit at any time now, France rushed back down the hall and ducked into a room, peeking out the doorway.  Minutes later, Germany and England exited the spare Conference Room and walked away in the other direction.

~~~

“England, we need to get going; there are only 5 minutes left until the meeting resumes.”

“R-right.”

Germany removed himself from England’s grip and guided him to a bathroom that was conveniently located in the room.  England turned on the tap and washed the dry saltwater off his face.  Staring into the sink, England’s mind wandered.

_France’s rape face came back.  “Onhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhonhon~ come, let’s take Amérique’s suggestion, shall we?”_

He started to tremble.

“You ready?”

England looked in the mirror to see Germany standing in the doorway, arms crossed and wearing a white dress shirt, with his jacket tied around his waist.  England followed Germany out of the bathroom, out the spare Conference Room door, and down the hall.  And during the trek to the original Conference Room, England couldn’t help but feel like he was being watched.

* * *

 

Germany and England pulled open the double doors of the World Conference Building, taking a breath of the fresh air.  They were halfway to Germany’s car when Germany realized something.  “Verdammt!  I left my jacket in the meeting room!”  He turned around to go get it.  As he opened the door, he finally noticed England was trailing him.

“Er…England, you can wait here.  I won’t be long.”

England, though unsure, nodded and allowed Germany to enter the Building while he himself watched the horizon.  He had just spotted Italy and a cat climbing a tree (…) when he felt a hand slam down on his shoulder.

When France rounded the corner and saw England standing alone in front of the building, he was excited; he could finally get some answers!  Smiling, he approached the Brit and rested a hand on his shoulder, but he frowned when he felt England stiffen and let out a squeak.  France quickly recovered and, smirking, orbited England until they were facing each other.  ‘He looks like a deer caught in headlights…’

“So, Angleterre, what’s on your mind?”  France began.

“Don’t…call me that.”

“What, ‘Angleterre’?”

“Don’t…please, don’t…I…”

France watched England as his breathing became a tad more ragged and he squeezed his eyes shut.  And-were those _tears_ at the corners of his eyes?  France suddenly felt the strange urge to wipe them away.  He stepped closer.

England, hearing movement, flung his eyes open, stepping backwards.  France continued advancing for every retreating step England made until England was backed against the wall.  Frowning in concern, France raised a hand and cupped England’s cheek.  England flinched.

“Angl-Britain…”  France said sadly, “Britain, what happened?”

“I-I…I…”  England croaked, looking everywhere but at the Frenchman in front of him.  So France cupped England’s other cheek with his other hand, forcing England to hold eye contact with him.  ‘Angleterre…’  He looked so…broken…

France’s thoughts were interrupted by the sight of England’s lips very faintly moving.  “Hm?  Ang-Britain, what are you saying?”

‘He seems not to have heard me,’ France reasoned, watching England’s soundless mantra continue.  However, its volume was very faintly increasing, and France was barely able to decipher what he was saying.

“No…no…no…”

“No?”

England’s eyes widened and France plainly see how much fear they possessed.

“NO!”  England abruptly pushed France away and ran through the doors of the Conference Building.  France, who managed to keep his balance, quickly regained his composure and ran after him.

* * *

 

Entering the Conference Room, Germany found his jacket where he left, on the back of his seat.  Shrugging it on, motion by the window caught his eye and he gravitated towards it.  It turned out to be just some birds tough, and before he left it he looked down (the window was a few floors up) to make sure England was still where he left him.  What he witnessed was France appearing to have trapped England against the wall.  Now where had he heard something like that before?

…

Right, England’s dream.

That…can’t be good…

_“N-nothing.  Nothing’s wrong.  I’ll sit there…next to America…and…”  He swallowed thickly.  “And France…”_

Germany remembered how freaked out England was after he heard he had to sit next to France; never mind being in such close proximity with him.  With this thought in mind, Germany hurried down the hallway to see if he could help.

Not even halfway to the entrance of the building a large mass slammed into his chest.  Germany fell to the ground with a grunt, pinned down by its weight.  Wincing at the pain on the back of his head, Germany cracked his eyes open to see what landed on top of him.  Cloudy blue met frantic green.

“E-England?”  Germany asked, surprised.  It was after he said this that he noticed the position they were in: England was basically straddling the poor German.  In his fearful haze, England registered how awkward it was too, as his cheeks became dusted with a light pink powder identical to Germany’s face.

“A-Angleterre!”  France’s cry cut through the air, breaking the spell.  England sprang to his feet and continued fleeing, rounding the corner.  In a split second decision, Germany, still on the ground, stuck an arm out to trip France, who was running towards him.  He managed to trip France, who fell on his face, skidding across the floor.

“Hey!  What did you do that for?”  The Frenchman angrily yelled, sporting a bright red mark on his cheek.

Germany’s face remained stern.  “Don’t go after England.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!”  France retaliated, masking his surprised.  “Why can’t I go after my friend?!”

“It has to do with what happened to him.”

France’s anger dissolved in an instant.  “Quoi?  What happened?”

“Well…it isn’t really my place to share,” Germany reported, standing up, “However I can tell you that it was a…mentally traumatizing experience and it…it had something to do with you.”

“Moi!?  What did I do?”  France protested, staring at Germany in disbelief.

“Again, it is not my place to tell anyone, but I am sure he will tell you in due time when he’s ready.”

“R-really?”  France asked with renewed hope.

“Yes.”  Germany turned to leave, but he had one more thing to say.  “Yes, but he is definitely not ready now.  I don’t know when he’ll be.  However, I suggest you keep your distance from him until then.  It will most likely speed up the process.”  And with that, he jogged away to chase down England.

France stood in the middle of the hallway, immobilized by rage.  How dare that kraut bastard try to order him around and tell him not to help Britain!  He had half a mind to run after him and…and…

France’s subconscious advised him that becoming this angry was bad for his naturally beautiful face, and the more he cooled down, and the longer Germany’s words rolled around in his head, the sooner he came to realize that Germany indeed had a point.  England, as hard as it was to admit, didn’t seem to be too happy to see him today.  Granted, England was never happy to see him, but today he actually seemed _scared_ of him.  That’s new.  And France didn’t like it at all.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do, seeing as England wouldn’t, or couldn’t (France mentally recoiled at that idea), talk to him, and if he confronted the Briton, not only would England probably have a nervous breakdown, but also the kraut bastard would be after his _cul_...  So with a heavy heart, France turned on his heel and trudged down the hall, down the stairs, out the door, and to his car.  He drove home in an emotional daze, trying to figure out what to do about this new information.

* * *

 

“England?  England, where are you?”  Germany frantically continued his search for the nation traveling through every possible hallway and peering into every room to find him.  Along the way, he nearly ran into one, no two…no, one…no…what.

“Ah, G-gomennasai!”

“Japan?  Oh, I apologize.”

“Ah, hello Germany.  Not to seem rude, but when are we leaving for your home?”

‘Scheiße, I forgot about that!’  Germany had allowed Japan to stay at his home for as long as it took for Hong Kong and South Korea to rebuild his house and recreate the landscape around it.  Seeing as the area was now virtually a crater, Japan would be staying for a while.  Not that Germany minded of course; Japan was a pleasant guest to have.

“Well, we will be leaving shortly, but right now I’m looking for England.”

“ _How come?_ ”  A new voice asked.  Germany started.  There was a person there?  Ah, yes, there he is.  Who is that again?  Maybe it’s America.  No, America wouldn’t have a tattoo of a maple leaf on his cheek…would he?

“I’m sorry but…who are you?”

“ _I’m Canada!_ ” he replied, smiling.

“Oh, right.  Canada.”

“ _So why are you looking for England anyway?_ ”  Canada reiterated.

“Oh, well, I…allowed him to live in my home.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“Canada-san, we shouldn’t impose-”

Germany sighed.  “No, it’s fine.  Well, because of some…circumstance that had arose, England ran off and hid somewhere in this building and I need to find him to drive him to my house,” he explained (vaguely).

“ _Wow, that’s a problem isn’t it._ ”  Canada marveled.  “ _We can help you look if you’d like._ ”

“Thank you.”  Germany accepted the help, relieved.

* * *

 

“ _England!_ ”  “England-san!”  “ **ENGLAND!** ”

Canada, Japan, and Germany traversed the halls of the building and searched every room.  Finally, above their calls, Canada heard a soft noise.

“ _Shh!_ ”

Japan just barely heard Canada, but the message got across and he clammed up.  Canada tried to get Germany’s attention as well, and when he did, Canada put his finger to his lips, the universal sigh to shut up. Begrudgingly, the German complied.  Soon the sound of dry sobs reached the ears of then three of them. Canada pointed to the door of the Conference Room, indicating the source of the sound. In response, Germany walked over to the door and violently kicked it open (Japan winced at the sound at the explosion of sound it made when it hit the wall.  Somewhere else in the world, Switzerland and Austria winced at the cost of the damage of the doorknob and the wallpaper).

“ _Germany, you probably scared whoever was in this room by doing that!_ ” Canada scolded.

Germany blushed.  “Er…sorry?”

‘Yay, he heard me!’  In his jubilation, Canada almost ran into the table.  Coming back from Cloud 9, he noted breathing coming from under the table. He looked under it to find England on his hands and knees, breathing heavily. Canada squatted down to eyelevel with him.  “ _E-England?_ ”

England looked up to find a nation staring at him.  Who…?

“…You're…n-not…America…are you?”

Canada was shocked; because not only England could actually tell he wasn’t America on the first try (though under any other context it would have been solely for that reason) but also…did England always look so…helpless?

“ _I-I’m Canada._ ”

England studied Canada’s face for what seemed like an excruciatingly long time. “Okay.”

“England-san,” Japan began peering down at England, “We should be going, yes?”

“We?”

“Japan will be staying in my home as well,” A deep, German-accented voice input.  “Is that fine?”

“Yeah,” England responded after some thought.  He crawled out and Canada helped him up.

“Are we leaving now?”  England asked.

Germany shook his head.  “We have to find Italy and let him know we’re leaving.  He is bringing his brother as well in their car.”

“Oh, I saw him; he was outside near a tree.”

“ _A-actually, can I come with you guys?  I want to talk to England, and I think America drove off without me,_ ” Canada admitted.

Germany rubbed his temples.  “Fine, it you must.”

“ _Yay!_ ”

Japan’s spoke up.  “Germany-san, do you hear something?”

“Um…”

“Germany!  Germany!  Help me, Germany, help me, help me, help me!  Germany please I really mean it this time!  Help me!!”

“ITALY!!”  Germany dashed outside, the other nations with him struggling to keep up with the frantic German.  They arrived outside the main entrance, where Germany was looking up a tree with an extremely cross expression on his face. Following Germany’s gaze, they found Italy on of the highest branches of the tree.

“Italy!  What the hell are you doing up there!”  Germany yelled.

“Germany~!  I was chasing this really cute kitty and it climbed up this tree so I climbed up it too but then it jumped down and now I’m stuck!”

“Can’t you climb down?!”

“I can’t; it’s too scary!!”

‘Find your happy place, find your happy place, find it!’

“Italy-kun!”  Japan called out.  “Try lowering your foot onto the branch next to you.”

“V-ve?”  Italy took Japan’s advice, stepping over to the mentioned branch with one foot.  As this was going on, Romano, who had apparently been waiting in Italy’s car since the Conference ended, stormed over to them. Or, more specifically, Germany.

“Oi, potato bastard!” he yelled, “Where the hell did you take mi fratello?!”

“He’s up there.”  Germany pointed to the stranded Italian above them.

“What the f*ck are you doing up there, idiota?!!”

“Wah!  I’m sorry fratello!  I’m getting down now!”

“You’d better!  You're lucky you have the keys or I would have left without you a long time ago!”

“V-ve!”

CRACK.

“What was that?”

“I think…”  England started to answer Japan’s question when another CRACK interrupted him.  “What…”

“Ve!”

“CH-CHIGI!!!!”  “Oof!”

With a sickening snap, the branch Italy had just placed his foot on gave way. The younger Italian tumbled down and crashed onto Germany.  The traitor branch however, plummeted and managed to pin Romano to the ground.

Romano blearily opened his eyes to find…someone… worriedly hovering over him.

“ _Are you alright?_ ”  The person asked.

“Wh-who the hell are you?”

“ _I’m Canada!  ...We should get this off you…_ ”

“You think?  That might be helpful!”  Romano grimaced.

“ _R-right!_ ”  Canada attempted to lift the log off Romano’s chest, but it barely budged.  “ _Maple!  This is heavy!_ ”

Romano tried helping by pushing the wood away from him, but his and Canada’s combined efforts still proved futile.

“Dammit!  Chigi…”  Romano shifted his position to try to make it easier to breathe.  When he did, he saw Italy sprawled on top of Germany out of the corner of his eye.

Italy on top of Germany…

…

“WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING TO MI FRATELLO YOU PERVERTED POTATO BASTARD?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

With a sudden, random burst of strength, Romano flung the tree limb a good ways away from him, almost taking out Canada in the process. He angrily stomped over to Italy and Germany.  “Well?!  What’s your answer?!”

“He just landed on me,” Germany tried to explain.

“And you!”  Romano turned his attention to Italy.  “Why the hell are you so close to the potato bastard?!”

“But fratello, Germany is so comfy!”

If Romano got any angrier, he would probably overheat and explode. He roughly yanked his brother away from the German.  “What the f*ck are you talking about, the potato bastard is a selfish jackass; is your _brain_ a potato now?!”

“V-ve!!  No, but Germany caught me and that means he’s nice and he protects me! He always helps me when I’m in a pinch, especially if it’s to his advantage, and he’s very muscular and macho and pretty and he's whiter than anybody!  And that has to count for something in this day and age or at least in keeping liquor stares out of your neighborhood! Plus Germans sound real funny, and laughter is good for the heart!”

“Veneziano,” Romano shyly ventured, “Could you say nice things about me too?”

“…Ve~…”

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“I HATE YOU **_SO_** MUCH!”  “I can’t breathe bro, I can’t breathe!!”

England watched the one-sided fight in bewilderment.  “Is…this normal?”

“Yes,” Japan answered without looking away from the scene.

“SHUT UP!”  Germany roared, quieting everyone around him.  Kinda.

“Don’t tell me what to do, macho potato!”

Germany opened his mouth to retaliate, but then thought better of it. “Anyway, it turns out I only have room for three people in my car.”

“Ve~ our car seats four!”

“Don’t interrupt me like that.  So since I will be driving my car and Italy and Romano will be taking their own car, then there will be two seats in my car and two in Italy’s-” Romano scowled “-and there are three of you.  One of you needs to go in Italy’s car.”

“I-I’ll go with Germany-san,” Japan quickly volunteered, paling a little.

“Alright,” Germany turned to Canada and England, “Which of you is going to travel in Italy’s car?”

Canada and England watched each other, trying to see if the other would volunteer first.

“ _I’ll-_ ”

“I’ll go.”

Canada looked at England in surprise.

“Are you sure?”  Japan asked.

“ _Yeah, America told me once about their driving.  It can be very…erratic…_ ”

“I-I’ll be fine!”  England insisted, but he was starting to have his doubts.

“Ve~, England, let’s go!”  Italy cheered.

“Shotgun is **mine** , bastards!”  Romano hollered, sprinting towards the car.

“We’ll meet you there!”  England heard Germany call after them.

“Whatever, macho potato!”

Italy ushered England into the back seat of their convertible while Romano quickly claimed his desired seat, making sure the top was down; Italy entered the driver’s seat.

“Ve~ are you ready?”

England fumbled with his seatbelt.  “Y-yes.”

“Can you just step on it already?”  Romano grumbled.  “I want to beat the potato bastard to his own house.”

“Si~!”  Italy pounded his foot on the gas pedal.

~~~

Germany led Canada and Japan to his car, and the three of them took seats: Germany driving, Canada with shotgun and Japan in the back next to his suitcases that they placed in earlier.  As they settled in for the short trip, a loud screech of pierced the air, accompanied by whooping and laughter, and a shrill, rather girlish scream.

“ _Who’s…screaming_?”

“England.”

“Brave soul,” Japan murmured.  “Making such a sacrifice…”

“ _Yeah,_ ” Canada agreed.  Germany sweatdropped.  He turned the car on and started to head out, noting the violent skid marks on the pavement.

“ _So…,_ ” Canada started, trying to change the subject, “ _Are you sure that you can’t tell us what’s up with England?_ ”

“Well…I’m not sure I should…”

“Germany-san, it may be helpful for you to tell us what is wrong so we won’t cause him distress.”

Germany sighed.  “Alright,” he consented as they turned onto the highway, “According to him, it all started with a dream…”

* * *

 

The street was quiet.  Quiet and peaceful.  And then, a loud engine was heard.  And then came the cheering, joined by the screams.

England was still in the backseat, eyes squeezed shut, gripping the seat as if his life depended on it (it probably did).  Italy and Romano however, were clearly enjoying themselves.

“Go faster, idiota; go faster!”

“VE~!!”

‘I’mgonnadieI’mgonnadieI’mgonnadieI’mgonnadie!!!’

Finally, the three arrived at Germany’s house.  Italy abruptly hit the brakes, somehow managing to send the car into a tight spin, briefly tipping dangerously sideways before it stopped.

“Alright, nice driving fratello!”  Romano praised, slapping Italy on the back.

“Ve~, grazie!”  Italy glanced behind him at England, whose skin was beyond deathly pale. “Did you like it England?”  Before England could even think about his response, Italy barreled on.  “Ve~ maybe next time I’ll show you my famous butt driving trick! But I still have to show Japan…”  The Italian mused.

“Whatever,” Romano commented, getting out of the car.  “As long as you stay away from the potato bastard.”

“But fratello~!”  Italy whined as he too exited the car.  The two Italians started another discussion that lasted until they realized England was still in the vehicle.

“England~!”  Italy tapped the window.  “Are you coming~?”  He giggled.  England looked funny curled up into a ball like that!             

“Oh, let me do it.”  Romano threw open the car door.  England slowly turned his head and cracked his eyes open to stare at the older Italian man.  South Italy (nervously) held out his hand.  England stared at it.

“Well?  Are you going to take it or not?  I don’t have all day, dammit!”

The traumatized Brit slowly grasped the offered hand.  Romano promptly yanked England out; after about two steps, England fell flat on his face.  Italy bent down to poke him.

“Oh, don’t tell me you're asleep!”  Romano complained.

We’ll go faster next time, ve~!  So you’ll stay awake!”

England groaned.

* * *

 

By the time Germany arrived with his passengers, England still hadn’t moved, and Italy was still poking him, Romano scowling at the both of them.  When he saw Germany’s car approaching, his scowl deepened and he retreated inside the house.  Canada walked over to Italy.

“ _Is he okay?_ ” he asked, Japan and Germany trailing behind.

“Ve~ I don’t know.  He’s been like this since he arrived. Maybe I should faster next time~!”

“Iie, I think he would appreciate it if you went slower.”

Germany shook England’s shoulder.  “England, are you alright?”

“Ugh…why won’t the ground stop moving?  I swear I’ll never ride in a car again; _somebody please kill me._ ”

“No one will be killed here England.”

“Gah…”

Germany almost bent down and picked England up over his shoulder as if he was Italy, but then wondered: would that trigger something from his dream?  He recalled being told France carried him in the same manner.  Ugh, he was going to have to pay a lot more attention to these things wasn’t he.  Finally, Germany just picked him up bridal style and carried him into the house. Italy skipped ahead of him, and Canada and Japan worked together to retrieve Japan’s suitcases from his car; Germany came to help after setting England down on the couch so the Briton could pull himself together.


	5. Chapter 5

“Why the hell are we here again?”

Canada sighed.  “ _I’ve already told you, we have to get England’s things and secure his house_.”

“Then why the hell do we have to do it?”

“ _Japan’s getting settled in, Germany’s busy with paperwork,, England won’t come back here no matter how hard we try, and Italy…well, you know Italy_.”

“Che.  Let’s just get this over with.”  Romano stalked inside England’s house, Canada close behind.

“ _You can start picking out some of his clothes_ ,” Canada told Romano, holding out a basket.  “ _I have to take care of some things here, but then I’ll join you_.”

With a huff, Romano snatched the basket away from the Canadian and stomped upstairs.  Canada blinked, then, shrugging, started his job by fulfilling England’s strange personal request to securely bolt that metal door down the hall.

* * *

 

Canada entered England’s bedroom and found Romano trying to put a dresser back upright.  “ _What are you…_?”

“Just come and help me put this back, maple bastard!”

‘ _Maple bastard?’_   Canada sweatdropped at the nickname, but helped the Italian nonetheless.

“ _Did you finish?_ ”  Canada had seen the basket full.

“Che.  Almost.  I just need some goddamn shoes.”

“ _I saw a few pairs near the door.  We can grab some on the way out._ ”

“Sure.  Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Canada shook his head.  “ _We have to tidy up this room first._ ”

“Fine.”  Romano plopped down against the wall and started nibbling on a tomato.  Canada stared at him in disbelief.  “What?”

“ _I…never mind._ ”  Canada started to make England’s bed, working in silence.  About halfway through Romano’s tomato, the front door slammed open.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!  Hey Iggy, are you home?”

Romano was startled (read: he shrieked).  Canada froze.  ‘ _Oh please, not now._ ’

“Hey, who was that?”  America yelled, bounding up the stairs.  He barreled into the bedroom.  “Hey, what are you doing here?”

“ _None of your business._ ”  Canada replied coldly.

America ignored him.  “So where’s Iggy?”

“Brow bastard?  He’s at the potato bastard’s house.”

“ _Why did you tell him?_ ”  Canada whispered.  Romano rolled his eyes and took a large bite out of his tomato in response.

“Potato bastard…is that the same as sausage bastard?”

“…Sure.”

“Sweet, so he’s at Germany’s!  Wait, why is he at Germany’s?”

“Because.”  Romano and Canada said in unison.

“Hey, are you headed there now?”

“What of it?”  Romano spat back.

“Can I tag along with you?”

“No.”

“Why not?”  America pouted.

“ _Because he doesn’t want to see you._ ”  Canada stated.

America grinned.  “Hey bro, you’re here too!”

Canada sighed.  “ _Yes.  Yes I am.”_

“So what’d you say?  I couldn’t hear ya.”

“ _I said that you’re not allowed to see him!_ ”  Canada yelled.

“Why not?  I’m the hero; I’ll just rescue him from the clutches of that _Nazi_.”

Canada frowned.  “ _You can try, but he won’t want to see you._ ”

“But everyone wants to see the hero, right?”

“Hell no.  Come on maple bastard, we’re leaving.”

“I’m still coming with you guys!”

“ _You know what?_ ”  Canada fumed, “ _You’re a meddling_ bastard _you know that?_ ”

The other two males were surprised.  “What?”  America asked.

“ _Oh, and while we’re on the subject, you’re demanding, always angry at something, and you get into fights excessively fast.  You buy strange things from the internet, and then try to sell them to me, and you think everyone is an underling to you because of that ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude you got going on.  You never return the things you borrow, always yell, and ruin the atmosphere.  You’re the stupidest guy I know, thinking I’m your 51 st state.  You’re always eating hamburgers; you might as well be obsessed with them!  You have no taste in food, no manners, and are always pigging out!  You’re overweight, and I’m sure crushing the scale proves that.  Though you delude yourself to be a hero, you are that in no way, America.  Your ideas are too crazy, and you are oblivious to the world problems to the point where you dare to believe that superheroes can possibly solve all of them.  Hence your insanely stupid ideas.  You’re too loud, forceful, and are always trying to grab all the attention even if it is not the right time or place for it!  You are obstinate, opinionated, arbitrary, and overall a big brainless kid!  And your country is no better!  People wanted to move out if one of the presidential candidates won, and unlike the rest of the world, you don’t use the metric system, which makes it an extreme pain to convert.  Most of your songs have bad messages, then you make the people pledge allegiance to a flag of all things, before the actual country.  Also, I’m actually quite amazed at how you’ve held onto Alaska, considering it’s sitting so far away from you.  Then there are those volcanoes you own called Hawaii, and California, which may or may not fall into the sea in the future due to the fault line its sitting on.  And the culture of violence you Americans have embraced is horrendous, and the readiness that children use swears is rather sickening.  And who could forget the high obesity rate?  And why does the Christmas publicity have to start before Halloween?  That doesn’t make any sense (like you); it’s too early.  Christmas used to be such a religious holiday; now, it’s centered on material things, and the stores really take advantage of that, don’t they.  I doubt there are actually children that know the real reason for Christmas without hearing it from church.  They probably wouldn’t even care, considering all they want are the presents.  And to prove how much of an education failure you are, China has more honors students than you even have students, oh and speaking of China, you owe him a ton of money don’t you?  When exactly are you going to pay that off?  Oh, and the vampires!  Thanks to you, they are no longer demonic and evil like they used to, but now all sparkly and they fall in love with other species.  Merde, don’t get me started with that series in general…”_

Romano was impressed.  Who knew the kid had it in him?  But, as much as he would like to stay and watch this justice be delivered…  “Maple bastard!  We need to leave!” he hissed, pushing past the depressed American while carrying the basket of clothes.

 _“…anyway, the people of your country are so - oh, right!”_ Canada sped out of the bedroom and followed Romano out of the house, remembering to pick up England’s shoes along the way.  By the time America snapped out of his funk and realized they left, Canada and Romano had thrown England’s things in the trunk of Romano’s car.

“Hey!”  America burst out of the house.

“ _Romano, I’m probably going to regret saying this, but drive.  Now_.”  Canada commanded, rushing for the passenger door.

A large, almost crazed grin appeared on Romano’s face.  “F*ck yes,” he breathed, jumping behind the wheel.  Canada barely had a chance to shut the passenger door when the vehicle lurched forward, speeding around the curb.  America watched them go, dejected.

* * *

 

“A’ight, dudes, here’s the deal!”  America declared to the three Allied he had called for an impromptu emergency meeting.

“This had better be good, aru,” China muttered.

“So I went to visit Iggy, right?  And I see that angry Italian – Romano!  That was his name!  – and Ca-Ca-Can…uh…”

“Canada?”  France supplied.

“Yeah, Canada!  Ok, so Canadia and that Romano dude were at Iggy’s house instead of Iggy, and so I was like, ‘Dudes.  Where’s Iggy?’ and then Romano said he was at Germany’s house so I was like ‘Hey, I’m going to go say hi!’ and then they told me I wasn’t allowed to see him!  I mean, come on!  The hero is always supposed to be able to go help his damsel-in-distress!”

‘ _His_ damsel-in-distress?’  France scowled.  ‘Wait, why am I so concerned about that?’  “Er…after the meeting a few days ago I tried to engage in a civil conversation with Angleterre, but when I confronted him, he ran away.  I tried to pursue him, but that kraut-bastard stopped me and told me to stay away from Angleterre.”

“Really, aru?  That is hard to believe,” China said skeptically.

“Well it’s true!  Why would I lie about something like that?!”  France angrily countered.

“You shouldn’t be yelling at each other like that,” Russia smiled, grabbing everyone’s attention.  “Because everyone will have to be nice to each other when they become one with Mother Russia, da?”

No one really knew what to say to that.

Finally, America broke the silence.  “Oh, so do _you_ have something about England, commie bastard?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Russia answered.  “Before the starting of the meeting England asked me to keep him awake during the entire time.”

“So that’s why you kept tapping his head with your pipe, aru,” China mused.  “Ah, actually that is interesting because England looked extremely tired when he came in that day, and no one would have really noticed if he slept – don’t say anything America, aru!  – so why couldn’t he take that time to catch up on a little sleep?”

Russia giggled.  “Da, it was funny how his eyes were redder after the meeting break.  Almost like blood~!”

_“It was probably because he was crying…”_

“He was crying?”  The others asked.

‘Merde!  I didn’t want to say that aloud!’  “Well…oui.  He was.”  France admitted with a grim look on his face.

“What was he crying about, aru?”

“I’m not sure,” the Frenchman hesitantly disclosed, “I could only hear part of his and Germany’s conversation.  I remember Angleterre was crying and begging Germany that he would do anything to stay in his house.”

“Dudes, this is worse than we thought!”  America raised a finger up high.  “Germany must have taken Iggy prisoner and in threatening to put him in a dungeon if Iggy doesn’t obey him!  That sausage bastard could be reverting back to his Nazi ways, brainwashing Iggy to do his bidding as we speak!  So as the hero and with you guys as my backup, we need to free Iggy from the clutches of that Nazi and keep those Axis Powers away from him!  So,” America pointed to China.  “China!  I choose you!”

“What?”  The effeminate man sputtered.  “Why me, aru?!”

“Well I can’t go, they won’t let me in!”

“Same here,” France added.

“I’ll go with you, China~!”  Russia offered, his smile widening.

“…There’s no way out of this, is there, aru.”

“Nope!”  America said cheerfully.

“Oh, fine, aru.  But you owe me something, America!”

“Yeah, Yeah, whatevs.  Now go before Iggy is forced to the dark side!”

* * *

 

After dropping off England’s things, and Canada regained his composure, the Canadian was driven to the airport (by Germany this time).  By the time Germany returned, lunch was ready.  Of course, there was pasta, but there were other foods as well.

“Come on, fratello, just try one!”

“What the hell makes you think I would?!”

“Please, fratello~!  It might taste like nothing, but otherwise it isn’t that bad!”

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I EAT A GODDAMN POTATO?!!”

“Why not just try a piece of it?”  England asked.  Japan and Germany looked at the Brit as if he were crazy.

“GODDAMNIT, I DON’T WANT A F*CKING PO-” Romano was cut off by Italy shoving a forkful of potato in his mouth with a “Ve~” Germany’s eyes widened, and he quickly ducked under the table.

“What are you doing?”  Japan asked.  Germany pulled him and England down with him.

“Seriously, what is going-” England started to ask, but Germany cut him off.

“…3.  2. 1.”

**_ “WHAT THE F*CK!!!!!?!!!!!” _ **

“Ow fratello it hurts fratello that hurts fratello!”

 **“IT SHOULD GODDAMIT!  I!  HATE!  YOU!  SO!  MUCH!!”**   Romano screamed.

“Wah fratello I’m sorry I’m sorry I’ll never do it again I swear please stop hitting me!”

Meanwhile, England watched the two in awe (and a little fear).

“Romano-kun does not particularly enjoy any forms of potatoes, including the place they came from,” Japan suddenly explained.

The three nations crouched under the table watched the older Italian continue to assault younger Italian until older Italian growled his native language and stormed down the hall.

“What did he say?”  Germany asked a bruised and battered Italy.

“Oh, he said he was going to the bathroom to ‘decontaminate his mouth of the potatoness.’”

“…Okay then.  We need to get you cleaned up,” Germany decided, kneeling and taking one of Italy’s arms to inspect it.

“Ow, Germany it hurts!”  Italy cried, managing to bury his face into Germany’s chest. The German’s face turned scarlet as he looked over the rest of Italy's body (for injuries, mind you!) and held him at arm’s length.

“It looks like it’s just some bruises,” he muttered to himself, pulling Italy to his feet and seating him on the nearest chair.

“Hey!”  A voice yelled.  Germany was turning to see the owner when an object flew and hit him square in the face.  It was a white box with a red cross on the front.  A first-aid kit.  Inwardly thanking Romano for the convenience, Germany opened it to see if he could use anything inside. As he was thinking, Italy reached over and took a bandage roll, starting to play with it. So when Germany turned to Italy with a few bandages, Italy’s head and shoulders were covered with the entire roll of cloth.

“What is your problem, Italy?”  Germany asked, annoyed.

“Ve~”

Germany started removing the bandage cloth and refurling it while Japan took the liberty of taking the bandages Germany had retrieved and applying them as necessary on Italy.  England continued to watch in silence.

As it turned out, Japan finished applying the bandages before Germany finished collecting the bandage roll.  The last of it was draped on Italy's curl.  Germany went to remove it, but in the process, his fingers brushed against the curl and Italy shivered.  Curious, poked it again and again and again, getting the same reaction every time.  Eventually, he reached out and grasped it in a fist.  Italy gasped, his breathing becoming shaky.

“Germany, I think you should let go…,” England suggested, eyeing Italy’s flushed face warily.

“Really?  He’s quieter this way.”

“…I’ll explain later.”

“Very well.”  Germany let go, and Italy’s breathing and complexion returned to normal.

*DING-DONG*

“That’s odd; no one usually comes here, or at least uses the doorbell,” Germany remarked.

“Who could it be?”  Japan joined in Germany’s musing, rising to go answer the door, just barely missing the nervous look on England’s face.

“I’ll get the goddamn door, bastards!”  Romano called.  The other four nations heard the creaking of the opening door, and the =n a piercing scream. A cloud of dust passed them and led into the bathroom, slamming the door shut. Everyone else blinked in confusion, until their guest strolled into the room.  Italy was the next to scream and rush to the bathroom, where Romano pulled him inside and locked the door.

“That’s not a very nice welcome, da?”

Germany jumped to his feet.  “Russia?  What are you doing here?”

“I think you should know,” China responded, venom lacing his voice.

Russia turned to England.  “Comrade!  We should be returning to the meeting room; America and France are waiting for you~”

“France is waiting for…for me?”

“Shì, he wants to see you the most.”

England stood in thought for a few moments before turning and bolting down the hall.

“Kolkolkol,” Russia strolled after him.  Germany, Japan, and China watched them until they were out of sight.

“What is the meaning of this?”  Germany demanded.

China took out his wok.  “America and France told us England was at your home, aru.  We decided that you kidnapped him and we are going to get him back, aru!”

“What are you talking about; we didn’t kidnap anyone!”

“Yes you did!”  China swung the cooking pot at Germany, and it just grazed the side of his head.

“Y-you don’t need to do this; can’t we just talk about this?”  Japan pleaded.  China didn’t stop swinging, but now with an added target.  After a few dodges, China finally got a hit.  The two nations fell to the ground in pain.

While all of this was going on, the Italies and England were crouched in the bathtub, the shower curtain drawn. The only sound that could be heard was their breathing – until the door squeaked open.  Italy whimpered, and England quickly placed a hand over his mouth to silence him.  The three held their breath.

“I know you're in here somewhere~” Russia sang, standing in front of the shower curtain.

Romano turned to his companions.  “We’re screwed,” he mouthed in the dim light.  England nodded grimly, and Italy’s eyes widened.  He whimpered again.  Suddenl

y, the curtain was wrenched from its rings, and Russia’s large frame towered over them.

“Waah!”  Italy cowered in the far corner of the tub.  “Don’t hurt me!  White flag, white flag, see?”

Romano tried to glare at Russia.  “What do you want?”

Russia grinned.  “I am just wanting to take comrade England home.  So I am going to.”  He punctuated his statement by playfully tapping Romano’s nose.

“ _Touch of Death!_ ”  Romano yelled.  He sped out of the tub and shut himself in a nearby closet.

Now unopposed, Russia lifted England up and hefted him under his arm. The Russian carted the Englishman out the door and down the hall.

“H-hey, let me go!”  England squirmed in Russia’s iron grip.

“Nyet.”  Russia entered the living room, and England caught a glimpse of China beating Germany and Japan with his wok. “China~ I found comrade England~!”

China ceased his attacks.  “Good, aru!  Then let’s go!”

“No!  I don’t want to see France!  Keep me away from France!”  England yelled repeatedly in protest, struggling to get out of Russia’s hold.

“Well too bad, ahen,” China huffed.  “You're coming with us and that’s that.”

“No, I’m not going!  I don’t want to go, you can’t make me!”

“You are too noisy, da?  You move too much too.  Maybe we should be fixing that~” Russia raised his faucet pipe above England’s head.

“Don’t hit him, aru!”  China hissed. “You might make his brainwashed mind even worse!”

“W-what?  N-nothing of that sort is happening here!”  England shouted.

China glared at England.  “So you’ve been brainwashed to think that too, ahen.”

“There is no…no brainwashing here!”  Germany said, wincing from his splitting headache.

“You could be lying~,” input Russia.

“We are not lying!”  Japan insisted.

“I don’t believe you.”  China decided.  He turned to Russia.  “Let’s go, aru!  We need to meet America and France in half an hour!”

“Da~” China followed Russia out the door, England squirming for a little longer before finally going limp as Russia got outside.

“Ufuu~ Look, China, he stopped moving!”

China moved to peer at England’s face, which was bowed and dripping with tears.

“Russia, aru…” China slowly said, “Bring him back inside.”

“What?  But why?”

“Just do it, aru.”

“Well, okay.  Only for you, China~”

Choosing to ignore the creepiness of Russia’s declaration, China watched as England was set on his feet, and as he crumpled into a ball on the ground, shaking.  The Chinese nation whirled to face Germany and Japan.  “What did you do to him, aru?!”

Germany stood up.  “If you’ll calm down, we can explain!”

“Da~ that’s fine~ I’d like to have a reason to bash your faces in~”

“I’ll make some tea,” Japan offered, stumbling into the kitchen.

“Take a seat,” Germany instructed China and Russia.  He then turned to England, who had just sat up.  “Go find Italy and Romano and stay with them, ja?”  England nodded, and ventured down the hall.  Russia and China seated themselves on the couch, with Germany across from them.  He sighed.  “Well, according to him-”

“Are you sure you’re not lying, aru?”

“Yes, I’m sure! I wouldn’t be lying about something like this!  Anyway, according to him it all started with a nightmare-”

“A nightmare?  I wonder how bloody it was~”

“ **Stop interrupting me!**   I’m getting there!  Mein gott…so _anyway_ , he had a nightmare about…3 days ago.  It started in a courtroom lobby…”

* * *

 

After Germany had finished speaking, a heavy silence filled the air.  During the explanation, Japan had brought tea for them all (and some aspirin for him and Germany) but no one had touched the liquid at all.  Then the slamming open of a door broke the silence.

"What the hell are you doing in my house!?"

"Ah, Germany!”  Spain beamed.  "Just who I wanted to see!  I would love to stay and chat, but...do you know where Romano is?"

"What-I-ugh."  Germany let his head fall into his hands.  "He went down the hall..."

"Gracias~!”  Spain bounced to the hallway.

"So...”  China started, "Sorry about attacking you, I guess, aru."

"It's fine.  You didn't know the whole story," Japan said.

Screaming started in the other side of the house.

"We'll be going now~" Russia chirped.

"Shì, we'll see you at the next Conference."

"Ja, auf Wiedersehen."

They left, and Germany closed the door behind them.  He then went to investigate the yelling.

* * *

 

_Meanwhile…_

England wandered to the bathroom.  “Italy?  Romano?  Are you still in here?”

“…Why?”  Romano asked.

“Russia’s in the living room; if we stay in this hall, we can avoid him.”

“Ve~ that’s fantastico!”  Italy leaped out of the bathtub and flung his arms around England’s neck. “Hug~~!”

“Thanks?”

“Hey, bastards!  Open this door already!”

England flung open the door, and Romano tumbled out, crashing into Italy and England. The three toppled to the ground.

England quickly got up.  “Let’s switch locations; there’s a guestroom down the hall.”

“Why the hell do we have to move there?”  Romano grumbled.

“Russia could come back,” England flatly replied.  Italy and Romano sped to the guestroom in response; England had no choice to follow. When he entered, he found the two Italies huddling under the covers of the bed.

“I don’t think Russia will come here,” England told them.  Their heads popped out from the blankets.

“I knew that,” Romano claimed.

“Sure you did.”

Romano scowled.

“England~ why don’t you join us here~?  I think there’s room!”  Italy waved him over.  England hesitantly made his way over to the bed and slid under the blankets. It was a tight fit.

“Dammit, fratello!  There isn’t room!”

Italy let out a sad ‘ve.’  “I thought there was…”

Scoffing, Romano vacated the bed.  The other two shifted to regain legroom, leaving Romano standing.

“Why don’t you pull up a chair?”  England proposed.  Romano begrudgingly did as England said, dragging a chair over to them and plopping into it, facing the bed.

“England~,” Italy began, “How long are you staying here?”

“I’m not sure; I mean, I guess I’ll go back home when I get everything sorted out and taken care of,” England replied in a whisper.

“Why the hell can’t you go back now?”

“Well…”  England tried to think of something to tell them.  “I had enough of France invading my home; it was more like his home than mine.  I honestly probably could have endured it for longer, but then he…he _defiled_ some property of mine, so to speak.  That was the last straw, and I left him as quickly as I could.”

“France _is_ a perverted bastard.”

England smiled.  “Yes, yes he is.”

“Fratello!  Big Brother France isn’t that bad~!”

“Yes he is.”  England and Romano simultaneously replied.

“Ve…England~ if you’re staying here then you can eat all the pasta I make!  And you won’t be disappointed because pasta is the best food ever!”  Italy went on a tangent, naming practically every type of Italian food in existence.

“You forgot tomatoes,” Romano interrupted.

“Si~ and tomatoes and tomato sauce and…”  Italy’s ramble turned into an all-out discussion about food, in which cooking tips were shared and England was mildly embarrassed. They were in the middle of attempting to verbally improve England’s scones when…

“ROMANITO~!”

“WHAT THE-”

Spain rushed into the bedroom and glomped Romano, sending both of them to the ground.  “Roma~”

“GET YOUR FATASS OFF ME, GODDAMMIT!  WHAT THE F*CK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!”

Spain grinned down at Romano.  “Oh, it was the funniest thing!  I was making paella to eat and then I had the strangest feeling that you were in trouble so I came over, but tú estás bien and that’s muy bien!”

“How the hell did you _find_ me, tomato bastard?!”

“A Boss always knows where his henchman is~” Spain squeezed Romano in a hug.

“Vai al diavolo! I am not your f*cking henchman!”

“Fusoso~ your face looks like a tomato, Roma~!”

“SHUT UP!  And don’t say that!”

Finding this spectacle amusing, England let out a small chuckle.

“What the hell are you laughing at?”

“¡Inglaterra! I didn’t know you lived here!”

“I don’t.  I’m just staying here for a while.”

“¡Ah~! ¡Vale! ¿Quieres comer un tomate?”

England stared blankly at the tomato Spain was offering.  He took it.  “I don’t know what you just said, but…thanks?”

Romano glowered at Spain.  “Oh, so you’ll give one to him, but you won’t give one to me?”

“Sorry Roma~ I only brought a few,” Spain sheepishly scratched the back of his head.

“So where are the other ones, bastard?”

“I ate them on the way here!  They were muy delicioso~!”

“…So you don’t have anymore.”

“Si~ Lo ciento, Roma.”                                                                                                                     

“…”

“Roma~?”  Spain cocked his head.  “Fusosososo~ you look so cu-”

“DON’T YOU DARE FINISH THAT SENTENCE YOU GODDAMN TOMATO BASTARD! I F*CKING HATE YOU **SO** MUCH!!!!”  Romano tackled Spain, hitting his vital regions as many times as he could.  The Spaniard yelled in pain with every hit.  Fearful of the raging Italian man, Italy ducked under the blankets and England backed away, tumbling off the side of the bed.

“Er…”

England craned his neck to see an upside-down Germany standing over him.  “Oh, hello.”

Germany sighed and helped England to his feet.  England picked up the tomato that he dropped, while Germany pried Romano away from Spain.

“Put me down, goddammit!”  With a well-placed kick to the nearest vital region (Germany’s), Romano freed himself and went to go sulk in a corner. Italy ran over to Germany and attempted to comfort him as the taller man kneeled on the ground in pain.

England peered over the bed at Spain, who was starting to get up. “He really got you good, didn’t he,” England observed upon seeing the Spaniard’s bruised face.

“Sí…but I know he didn’t mean it!”  Spain grinned at his former rival.

“…I will never understand that man,” England decided.  He approached Romano’s corner and held out his tomato.  “Would you like to have this instead?” he offered, slightly weary of the other’s wrath.  Romano glared at England before snatching the fruit and taking a large bite out of it in the same motion. Turning to leave, the Brit heard a quiet, mumbled, “Grazie.”  He decided not to comment on it.

“Germany~ can I stay with mi Romanito” -Romano’s eye twitched- “while he stays here?”

Germany replied, “There aren’t any more beds…” as he shakily stood on his feet.

Italy brightened.  “Ve~ there was a tent in the attic!  I remember seeing it there a few days ago next to a box of videotapes!”

“When did you-”

“Really~?”  Spain interrupted Germany.  “We should look for it then~!”

“Ve~!”  Spain and Italy dashed out of the room.  Moments later, Romano got up and followed them, still munching on his tomato. England looked at Germany.

“How do you do this?”

“Do what?”

“This!”  England gestured around him with his hands.  Germany shrugged, starting to remake the guest bed to satisfy his OCD-ness.  This took a good half-hour.

* * *

 

“So that’s the scoop, huh?”  America asked, leaning back in his chair.

“Da~”

America pounded his fist on the table in frustration.  “But I’m the _hero_! Why didn’t I save Iggy in his dream like one would?”

“I don’t know,” China said.  “But I agree with Germany that it would be best to give him some space, aru. He will probably come to you on his own, since you are not the main offender.”

“Yeah…’S too bad the Frenchie didn’t show.  He’d love to hear this.”

“I could call him, da?”  Russia offered, holding up a phone.

“When did you get France’s number, aru?”

“Don’t be silly, I got everyone’s phone number!  Because everyone will become one with Mother Russia, da?”

The others shivered.

“Yeah, you can call him.”

“Wait, isn’t he in a meeting with his boss, aru?  We can’t interrupt that!”

“Don’t worry dude, it’s probably long over by now.  He’s probably chillin’ at home or somethin’.

~~~

True to America’s word, France _was_ “chillin’” at his home – but he wasn’t alone.

“Merci for listening to me, mon petit Canada,” France said, sipping his wine.  “I didn’t know what to do.”

“ _It’s fine.  I understand,_ ” Canada replied.  “ _I had nothing better to do, anyway_.”

“Quoi?”  France gasped.  He moved to sit next to Canada.  “No people to meet?  No friends to be with?  No loves to charm into bed~?”

“ _Uh…well-hey!  Don’t pinch me there!_ ”

“Onhonhonhonhonhon~”

Just then, ‘La Marseillaise’ ran through the air.

“ _Is that your phone?_ ”

“Oui, oui…”  France fished it out of his pocket.  He frowned at the unfamiliar number.

“Allo!  Qui est à l’appareil?”

“Priviet, comrade~!”

“R-Russie?!  How did you get my phone number?!”

“Ufuu~ that isn’t having any importance right now.  I am calling because of England.”

“Why?  Did you find something?”

“France, aru,” China’s voice came on the line.  “Besides what you told us, what else to you know?”

“Ah…Allemagne told me that what happened to Angleterre was mentally traumatizing and it had something to do …with me.”

Canada stiffened.

“Cool, cuz we found out exactly what happened to Iggy, straight from the enemy’s mouth!”

“So, what happened?”

“Well it was a dream he had, aru, and you…”

“A dream?  What did I do?”

China started speaking again, but it was quieter, like he was away from the phone. “Should we really tell him, aru?”

“Don’t see why not,” America replied.

“But…”

“Hey!  Are you going to tell me or not!?  What did I do in the dream!?”

“You raped him.”

“…QUOI.”  France paled.  “S-say that again, Russie?  I-I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“This will be the mast time, da?  You raped comrade England.”

“In his dream?”

“Da~”

“But why-I would never-”

“Sorry, aru.”

“France, aru?”

“Yo Frenchie!  You still there?”

Canada walked over to face France.  “ _Êtes-vous d'accord, papa?_ ”

France stared back.  “…Non…”

“Hey, you’re alive!”  America exclaimed.

“…I raped him?”

“Da~ According to him you carried him up the stairs and tied him to the bed~. The dream loops too so it happens over and over forever~”

France paled even more, if that was possible.  He teetered, and fell in a faint.  Canada grabbed the fallen phone.  “ _Bonjour?_ ”

“Priviet, comrade Canada!”

“ _Russia?_ ”

“Hey, don’t forget about me and China, dude!”  America yelled from a distance.

“ _So you guys know?_ ”

“Know what, aru?”

“ _About England’s dream_.”

“Bro, you act like you already know.”

“ _I do.  Germany told me after you left me behind at the Conference Building.  Mon Dieu, you’re stupid. And…_ ”

“So now what, aru?”  China interrupted.  America sighed in relief.

“ _I guess we should give him some space,_ ” Canada reasoned, “ _Especially America and France. I’ll tell France when he wakes up._ ”

“I gotta stay away from Iggy?”  America said sadly.

“Shì, but it’s in England’s best interest to help him recover.  You can talk to him only if he talks to you first.”

America stayed silent.

“Spasibo comrade!  Do svidaniya!”

“ _Adieu._ ”  Dial tone.

Canada hung up as well, and put the phone on the table.  He dragged France to the couch and rested him on it, then searched through France’s library for a non-erotic book (which happened to be an encyclopedia about the country of France) and set about reading it until the Frenchman awoke.


	6. Chapter 6

“You look tired, amigo,” Spain said.  “Muy cansado.  When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

All six of them (Italy, Romano, Germany, Japan, Spain, and England) were in the middle of eating dinner when Spain asked this very important question.

England stifled a yawn.  “I…don’t recall…”

“You should probably get some rest, England-san.  You have had an eventful few days,” Japan remarked.

England shook his head.

“Why the hell not?”

“Well…I have a lot of…paperwork to catch up on, so…I want to finish it tonight.”

“Ve~?  You don’t have to work all the time like Germany does!”  Germany sweatdropped.  “You can take a break once in a while~!”

“I know, but, there is a lot of it, and it’s due very soon…”

“Leave him alone, Italy; if he doesn’t want to sleep then that’s that and you shouldn’t pry as to why.”

“Ve…”

“Hey, don’t talk to mi fratello like that, kraut breath!”

And thus, the conversation was temporarily forgotten.

* * *

 

England was sitting at Germany’s desk in the corner of the living room doing the paperwork he printed form his laptop (which Canada had also grabbed while at England’s house). Japan hooked up Germany’s new television (which was given to him a year ago and has been sitting in its box until now because Germany couldn’t figure out how to set it up) with Germany watching him intently.  The group was using it as background noise as they held up a discussion, which happened to involve the language of the programs they were watching.  In an attempt to bar the insults being unintentionally – or intentionally, in Romano’s case – directed at his culture, Germany went to check up on England.  The German found the Brit slumped in his seat, seemingly sleeping.

“England, are you asleep?”  Germany voiced his thoughts in a whisper.  No sooner than when the words left his lips England’s eyes flew open and he bolted upright.

“N-no, why do you ask?”

“You looked like it.”

“Oh,” England replied after a pause.  “What time is it?”

“Es ist neun.  Nine o’clock.  You know I really think you should get some rest before you do your work; nothing productive ever gets done half-asleep.”

“No, I’ll be fine,” England protested, putting on a cross expression, which wasn’t as effective seeing as he _was_ half-asleep.

“¡Ay, qué lindo~!”  Spain rushed over to pinch England’s cheeks.  “Almost as cute as Roma-chan~”

“It’s Roma- _kun­_ , tomato bastard!I’m not a goddamn _girl_!”

“When did you learn Japanese honorifics?”  Germany wondered.

“Japan told us about them~!”  Italy cheered.  “Come join us~!”

“Sí, it must be really uncomfortable sitting in that chair all night!  ¡Ven aquí!  Spain waved England over as he returned to his seat.  Rubbing his cheeks, England drowsily followed him, plopping down on the edge of the sofa.

“England-san, you really do look tired.  Sleeping might be in your best interest,” Japan stated.

“Yeah, you look like you’re going to pass out any second,” Italy added, laughing a little.  “You should go to bed.  Or take a siesta.  You can…do work…in the morning.  Like…I …do…”  Italy fell into Romano’s lap.

“Hey!  What the hell?”  Romano looked to see his brother far into dreamland.  He sighed.  “Hey.  I’m putting my idiot fratellino to bed.  Buonanotte…” Romano said, practically carrying Italy down the hall.

“Gute nacht.”  “Oyasuminasai.”  “Buenas noches~” “Mm.”

“Whatever, bastards!”

“I should go to bed, too!”  Spain looked thoughtful.  “Should I sleep with mi Romanito or en mi tienda de compaña?”

The others sweatdropped.  “You should probably sleep in the tent to…maintain the peace.”

“Está bien~.  Well, see you in the morning!”

Germany and Japan bid him a good night in return.  They watched the news for a while longer before Germany stood up.

“We should retire for the night as well,” he suggested.  “It’s getting late.”

“Hai, I agree.”  Japan moved to turn off the TV.  “Will you be alright here alone, England-san?”  No reply.  “England-san?”

“Japan...”  Germany called, motioning to England.  The Brit was curled up on the couch, his chest slowly and steadily rising and falling, with a peaceful expression on his face. 

“He fell asleep…”  Japan resisted the urge to run and get a camera and take a picture at that exact moment.

“Ja.  I guess it was bound to happen eventually, as Italy said, he looked like he was going to pass out at any time.”

“We should move him.”  Germany bent to pick England up.  “The only bed left is in your room, Japan.  Do you mind?”

“Iie, not at all.”

Germany carried England to the second guest room, the one where Japan was to sleep in, and gently set him in bed. Japan pulled the blankets over his sleeping form.

“Germany-san,” Japan softly said, “I was thinking: perhaps the reason England resisted sleeping was not because of his paperwork, but because of that dream.”

“Germany nodded. “  Yes, that makes sense.”  He turned to leave.  “Come get me if something happens to him, ja?”

“Hai.”  The door was closed with a click.  As quietly as he could, Japan reached into one of his bags and pulled out his trusty camera.  He snapped a few pictures of England’s sleeping face (Kawaii~~) before going to bed himself, not noticing a look of discomfort materializing on England’s face.

* * *

 

France was lounging on top of England so they were chest-to-chest. Neither of them were clothed.

“So, Angleterre,” France began, lazily ghosting patterns on England’s face and neck.  He smirked when the Brit shuddered.  “The most intéressant thought occurred to me just now~!”

“What…what is it, F-France?”  England wondered in a whisper.

France grinned and kissed him hungrily.  “Oh, I love it when you say my name, Angleterre~!  I can’t wait to make you scream it later~!  Anyway, I was thinking.  Maybe we should have some sort of conversation between us!  It would make things interesting, since it must be dreadfully boring for me to just f*ck you over and over for the rest of your dream life~,” The Frenchman looked pleased with himself.  “So talk.”

“A-about what?”

“Well…how has your government been doing lately?”

“Why the hell should I tell y-augh!”  England howled in pain.  “Get it out, get it out!!  Please get it out!”

France removed his fingers with a pout.  “Aw, and I was being nice this time. You still need to answer my question~”

England tried to catch his breath.  “O-oh well…it’s been…okay. “  We’ve been working on…on passing a few laws…”

“Well, that’s good to hear~!”  France beamed.  England looked away.

“Hmm…”  France thought for a moment.  “Ah!  How has your cooing been?”

“The same as always: the best.”  England managed a small grin.  “I remember Italy ate some a while ago and he started sobbing.  Perhaps it was because it was so good?”

France rolled his eyes.  “Of course poor Italy cried; your cooking is atrocious!  You making an edible meal is like those friends of yours being real!”

“…F*ck you.”

“Gladly~” France positioned himself accordingly.

England’s eyes widened.  “W-wait, no I-I didn’t mean; no please, France I- augh!!!”

* * *

 

THUMP.

“England-san?”  Japan was woken up by the noise.  Turning on a bedside lamp, he ventured over to the lump of blankets on the floor. “England-san, are you alright?”

“…No…”

Germany’s frame appeared in the doorway.  “I heard screaming; is everything alright in here?”

Japan pointed to the lump on the ground.

“England, was it the dream again?”

“…Yes…”

Germany sighed.  “You really do need to sleep, you know”

England poked his head out of the blanket cocoon. “I know,” he whispered, wiping the tear tracks off his face.

Japan looked at the clock, the neon lights reading 11:18pm.  “What time is it in China?”

* * *

 

“Wei!”  (A/N: It’s around 6:20am the next day in China)

“Konnichiwa, China-san.  Is this a bad time?”

“No, this is a perfect time, Japan, aru!  It’s been so long since you called; how have you been?”

“I am fine.  Actually, I have a question for you.  What would be the best way to sleep without dreams?”

“For England?”

“Hai.”

“Well…I am not sure of any definite solutions, aru, but I can give you some suggestions!”

“That will have to do.  What are they?”

“Ah, let me see…It’s been seen that eating healthy food before going to bed helps.  Oh, and going to bed at the same time every night works too, aru!  Also, filling the mind with positive thoughts before sleeping helps ward off bad dreams, that say, aru!”  (A/N: I actually looked online for these, so…whatever.)

Japan jotted everything down on a slip of paper.  “Arigato, China-san.”

“Bié kèqì, Japan, aru!  Hey, we should get together sometime and have a chat, aru!”

“Perhaps.  I’ll think about it.”

“Great, aru!  Zàijiàn!”

“Sayonara.”

“So what did he say?”  Germany asked as Japan put away his phone.  Japan repeated the information he had received from China.

“That could work,” Germany mused.  “What do you think, England?”

The Brit nodded.  “I could…try to think…” he yawned.

“Hai, that is the most you can do at the moment.  You must be tired.”

England slowly untangled himself from the mess of blankets he had created and started to make remake his bed. Germany sprung to help out, and soon England was back under the covers.

“Well, gute nacht,” Germany said, leaving for the comfort of his bed. The island nations wished him a good night in return.  Before retiring to his bed, Japan reminded England, “Happy thoughts,” before shutting off the lights.

England lay in the darkness for an hour, trying to follow Japan’s (and China’s) advice.  In the end, he somehow, _somehow_ managed to dream not of France and discarded boxers, but of insanely traumatizing car rides and rage induced by two foods that sounded very similar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because he managed to ward off the dream this time, doesn’t mean it’s completely gone. It just went from, like, a 100% chance of the dream occurring to, like, a 50% chance of the dream occurring.


	7. Chapter 7

**SLAM!**

“Kesesesesese~!  Hey West!  Did’ya miss the awesome me?”

Germany sighed.  “I would like to say I did not.”

“K-konnichiwa, Prussia-san.”

“Hey, Japan!”

“Prussia~” Italy hugged the albino, who had just come back from who-knows-where and had decided to come back and crash at his brother’s place.

Romano scowled.  “What the hell is potato bastard number two doing here?”

“Aw, Roma~ won’t you give the awesome me a hug?”  Prussia teased, engulfing the Italian in his arms.

“Chigi!  Let go, albino bastard!”  Romano violently kicked Prussia in the shin.  While the albino hopped on one foot in pain, Romano fled to the couch where England was sitting, watching the exchange in front of him in amusement.

Gilbird, who had hopped off Prussia’s head as soon as his owner had hugged Romano, flew over to hover in front of the Briton, curious about the new face in his owner’s brother’s house.  Meanwhile, Gilbird’s owner was waving away Italy’s fussing over his minor wound (that may or may not bruise in the near future).

“Kesese~ don’t worry Itachen!  This is nothing compared to my awesomeness!  Roman was just being a spoilsport; you wouldn’t do something that unawesome, right Ita?”

“Ve~!”

“Awesome!  But not as awesome as-hey where’s Gilbird?”

“I believe he is over there, Prussia-san.”  Japan gestured to England.  Gilbird was perched on the Brit’s shoulder while he watched the bird apprehensively.  Prussia’s red eyes absorbed the scene before him, his gaze lingering on the Briton’s face.  HE sauntered over.

“Kesesesese~ Nizza holen, Gilbird!”

England jumped, jostling Gilbird off yet another perch.  As the bird flew about the room, England scowled.  “Bloody hell, you startled me, git.”

Prussia plopped down on the couch between Romano and England, lazily slinging an arm around the Englishman’s shoulders.  The contact made England uneasy for some reason.  It seemed to give off a different vibe than when Italy or Spain hugged him.  It vaguely reminded him of France…Memories of the horrid dream resurfaced and he unconsciously hugged himself closer, shivering.

Prussia laughed and pulled England closer.  Germany shot him a glare, and Prussia blew a raspberry at him.  Germany was about to speak when Spain entered the room.

“¡Amigo~!”

Prussia leaped off the couch and gave a high-five to his Spanish friend.  “Awesome, you’re here too!  Kesese~ we should get France over here and have a party!” the two laughed in excitement.

“You will do no such thing.”  Germany snapped, partly because he didn’t wasn’t a giant mess in his house from their antics and partly because he didn’t think England would be too keen on the idea of France being within a one-mile radius of him.

“West, you're an unawesome party pooper,” Prussia complained.  He led Spain down to the basement, yelling about the “awesomest party ever.”  Germany rubbed his temples and left as well, presumably to do paperwork.  Italy dragged Romano out to make pasta, and England and Japan were the only ones left in the room.

“Will France really come?”  England asked.

Japan paused.  “I do not think he will.  Shikashi, I am sure that Germany-san would not let him be here anyway, and neither would I.”

England nodded, relieved.

* * *

 

Romano and England were tasked with doing this week's laundry.  Naturally, Romano was pissed about being ordered around by the potato bastard, but he was following his directions anyway.  England was just wondering why they were always paired together to do things.  He was also extra anxious because unfortunately for all of them, the laundry room was built on the basement floor.  According to Romano, the Prussian lived the the basement, where he was at this moment doing who-knows-what with Spain.  Or maybe by himself, he didn't know.  Anyway, there was a lot more laundry then anticipated; they were on their sixth or seventh load.

"Fratello~" Italy's voice drifted down the stairs.  "I have more laundry!"

Huffing, Romano ascended the stairs to help his brother.  "Why the hell do you have so many clothes here, fratellino?”  England heard Romano ask.

"Oh!  I brought them here because I visit Germany's house a lot to sleep with him and Germany doesn't like it when I wear his clothes when I wake up in the morning so I brought mine instead!"

"...You did _what_!"

England sighed.  Those two argued about anything that had to do with Germany.

"Kesesese~"

England whirled from loading the dryer.  "What do you want?"

"Nothing~" Prussia sang, approaching the Brit, who was already backed against the laundry machines.  "It's just the awesome me has just decided that you are awesome enough to hang out with me and the equally as awesome Gilbird!"

"N-no, I'd rather not.”  England turned to finish with the dryer.

"Hey, this is an honor, you know, being chosen to hang out with someone as awesome as me!  You should be bowing to my awesomeness in gratitude!"

"Again, I'd rather not.”  England turned the dials to start the machine.  "Why the bloody hell are you asking me?  Weren't you going to call...someone else?"

"Oh, you mean France, right?  He couldn't make it.  He had some unawesome arrangements."

"So I'm his replacement?"

Gilbird chirped in what England assumed to be agreement.

"Well unfortunately for you, I have other plans.”  England tried to push his way out of the increasingly awkward situation.  Suddenly Prussia seized the Brit's arms, holding him in place.  England grew nervous under Prussia's scrutinizing gaze.

"You know, now that I look at you, you're kinda cute."

England's eyes widened.  "Wh-what?"

"Kesesesese~" Prussia cackled.  "Yep!  Not as cute as Birdie, but cute enough!"

England had a feeling that the identity of this 'Birdie' wasn't important right now.

With a smirk not unlike the one a certain Frenchman used to haunt his dreams at night, and a low voice, Prussia proceeded to ask, "So, do you want to see my five meters?"

England was going to give a negative response, but his heart had already become lodged in his throat.  So he couldn't really do anything as the two men's foreheads touched.  He was trapped and the Prussian knew it.  England closed his eyes, willing the upcoming event to get itself over with.

" _Prussia-san!_ "

The aforementioned nation jerked away from England and turned to see Japan giving him the iciest glare he could muster (which was actually pretty cold...).

"Hey Japan~" Prussia grinned.  "We were kinda in the middle of something, so..."

Japan continued to stare

"Uh...”  Prussia nervously laughed.  "We'll we were having an awesome time, right?”  He turned to England, hoping for some backup.  England slid down and sat, hugging his knees and hiding his face from view.  Prussia glanced back and forth between the others, weighing his options.  He huffed in annoyance.  "So unawesome," he swore, stomping out of the laundry room.

"Are you alright?”  Japan cautiously approached England.

"I-I think so," England mumbled without raiding his head.

"Would you like me to speak with him?"

England shrugged; Japan decided to take that as a yes and went after the Prussian.

Meanwhile, England, in a random fit of childishness, perched himself on top of the dryer, watching his legs swing back and forth.

"Wah!!"

England looked up just in time to see Italy tumble down the stairs with an armful of laundry.  England rushed over to him.  "Bloody hell!  Are you alright?"

"Ve," Italy dazedly replied, "Si, but I dropped all the clothes..."

"That's quite alright, as long as you're okay.  Here, let me help you.”  England started to pick up the clothes.

"Oi, fratellino!  Did you just fall down the stairs?"

"Si~ but I'm okay~!"

"Whatever.  I'm coming down.”  Romano started his descent.  "Seriously, I can't believe you did something as _stupid_ as falling down the-oh shit!"

Romano tripped over a jacket strewn across the steps.  Luckily, England just happened to be in just the right spot for him to catch the falling Italian.  They stared at each other awkwardly until a flash of light appeared. Its source, as it turned out, was a camera that was being held out of the doorframe that Prussia had disappeared into.

“Ve~ Ciao, Japan~!”  Italy greeted from his spot on the floor.  The arm and camera quickly retracted, and England, figuring out what just happened, dropped Romano as fast as he could.  Romano glared at him in annoyance; England returned it with an apologetic half-smile.  Just then, the timer on the washing machine buzzed, and at the same time, Germany came down the stairs.

“What is taking you so long?” he asked, then looked around.  “And why are there clothes on the stairs?”

“Shut up, potato bastard,” Romano grumbled.

“Fratello~” Italy whined.  “Be nice to Germany, won’t you?”

“Why the hell would I be nice to him?!”

England sighed and started to unload the washer.

* * *

 

Later that day, England was sitting on the couch watching TV (It was in Germany, but Japan figured out how to get English subtitles!)  Italy had decided to take his siesta on England’s shoulder.

Prussia came up and sat down next to England, and the Brit would have scooted away if not for Italy.  Prussia muted the TV and the only sound heard was Italy’s snoring.

“So!”  Prussia said.

“Wh-what the bloody hell do you want?”  England snapped back.

Prussia laughed.  “Hey, you're pretty awesome, yourself, you know,” he abruptly declared.  England looked at him in surprise.  “But not as awesome as me, of course~!”  He laughed again.

England was left confused until…”Did Germany tell you to apologize to me?”

Prussia rolled his eyes.  “That old stick-in-the-mud?  Of course he did!”

“Okay then.”  More silence.

Prussia stood up and stretched.  “Awesome~!  Hey I’m gonna raid West’s fridge for beer, you want some?”

“No thanks,” England refused.

Prussia was about to try to convince him otherwise when Gilbird decided to jump from the Prussian’s head onto England’s.  The two of them watched, surprised.

“Traitor,” Prussia finally muttered.

England smirked.  “I see that your bird has decided who the better person is here, git.”

Prussia scowled.

Italy, meanwhile, slowly started to wake up.  “Oh, ciao England, ciao Prussia!  Is it time to eat pasta yet?”

Prussia laughed.  “Sure, Itachen!  Let’s go find Lovilocks and we can go have some!”

“Ve~!!”  Italy cheered, following Prussia out of the room.  England, on a whim, decided to follow them, Gilbird still chirping from his head.


	8. Chapter 8

England opened his eyes to see France looming over him, donning a hurt expression.

“Angleterre, where have you been?  I’ve missed playing with you, what happened?” he asked in concern.

England tried to ignore the sexual connotation in France’s question.  “I was…busy.  With other things.”

“Like?”

“Why should I tell you?”  England snapped in rebellion, although his tone quickly changed with a glance at France’s face.  “A-actually, what I meant to say was…” he quickly added, as France’s fingers ceased all movement. “  …Was that I was…um…improving diplomatic relations, per se, with…with Germany and-”

“Germany?!  That uncouth barbarian?!  Angleterre how could you?!”  France wailed.

“He’s not that bad, you know.”  England scowled.

France put a hand on his heart.  “Ah, Angleterre, you wound me so,” he sighed dramatically.  “Don’t you love me, mon lapin?”

“No, of course not!”

France gasped.  “No?  But I thought you did!  You could have fooled with all that moaning you were doing earlier~”

“W-well, that doesn’t matter, because I don’t!”

“Then I’ll just have to convince you to~” France toyed with the waistband of England’s boxers experimentally.  “Oh, I have an idea!” he exclaimed, scampering off his victim.  England turned his head and watched as France rummaged through his drawers and closet.

“What are you doing?”  England asked warily.

“Oh, I’m just looking for something that will…how do they say it…’spice things up.’”

“Wh-what?  But…”England whispered in protest.

France turned to him.  “But what?”

Surprised that France heard him, England tried to collect himself (key word: tried).  “But…well…it’s n-not necessary, I-I am perfectly fine right now.”  Of course, he _wasn’t_ fine, but almost anything sounded better than what  France had in store for him.

“Ah, but aren’t there times in life when you are doing the same thing over and over and you just… _lust_ for a change?”  France interrupted his search to dance over and clasp his hand firmly on England’s rear end.

England’s face flamed up.  “N-no, of c-course not!  A-and get your bloody hand off me!”

France complied, albeit reluctantly.  “…Being with that barbarian has changed you,” he sighed.

“I suppose…”  England agreed.  France resumed his search in a thoughtful silence, which struck England as odd; he would have thought France would have struck up another conversation by now.  With nothing better to do with the short break France had inadvertently provided, England took up watching France flit about in his bedroom during his search.  The last place he searched was atop England’s dresser.  There, after some contemplation, France picked up a red bandanna and a safety pin.  Under the cloth, however, was a gold heart-shaped locket, which France picked up with a smirk.

“This is yours, right?” he asked England.

“Ye-NO!  Put it down!”

“Oh, but you are not in a position to stop me, oui?”  France cheekily replied.  England scowled and looked away.

France, somewhat satisfied with England’s response, carefully pried the locket open.  Viewing its contents, France let out a soft gasp, catching England’s attention.

“Where did you get this?”  France asked softly.

The Frenchman’s wistful expression threw England off guard.  “F-from Japan, remember?  When he was taking pictures of everyone during that conference?”

France continued to stare at the locket with an expression that mixed surprise and sadness onto one face.  Growing worried about what that meant for his future well-being, England distracted himself by delving into his memories of that time.

* * *

 

It was actually quite a while ago, just after that Pictonian invasion, and before the World Conference America had planned after it.  Everyone there was in an unusually tolerating mood; perhaps it was the near-‘death’ experiences they went through that mellowed them out a bit.  Heck, even Romano was letting Spain cuddle him with almost no complaints.  Japan was taking advantage of the peace and was taking pictures of just about everyone in sight with his camera, whether they were aware of it or not.  France and England, meanwhile, were trading gibes with each other in a friendlier manner than usual when Japan approached them.  He was warmly greeted by France (in reflection, perhaps a little _too_ warmly), and that was when Japan asked if he could take their picture of the two together.  England, crossing his arms, had agreed.  Japan held the camera up to his face, about to snap a photo, when France abruptly swung an arm around England’s shoulders.

“Hey!  What the bloody hell are you doing, frog?!” he yelled.

“Angleterre, you need to lighten up~ this is going to be a memory that will be recorded forever; you don’t want it to show you being so…”  France fumbled for the word he wanted.  “…Unattractive, non?”

England stiffened.  “Unattractive?  Me?  No, you're the unattractive one here!”

France laughed.  “Onhonhon~ Angleterre, you are so amusing,” he sighed, pulling the Brit closer.  England blushed, and as France blew a kiss at the camera, Japan snapped the picture.

“Arigato,” Japan bowed, leaving the two blondes alone.  Said blondes simply watched him leave, and England started to zone out.  He came back to earth, however, when France softly chuckled.  England looked over to the Frenchman next to him to find that their noses were almost touching.  They gazed at each other with the faintest of blushes on their cheeks.

The awkward silence was shattered by England, who jerked away from France’s one-armed embrace.  “You bloody **wanker**!  What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, you perverted twat?” he yelled, mortified by the fact that he let himself get that close to France.

Something flashed in France’s eyes before he shot back with, “Moi?!  You were the one who was making yourself comfortable, rosbif!”

“Comfortable?  Why would I be comfortable around a frog like you?”

“Iggy~~!”

France’s retaliation was interrupted by America running up to glomp England.  England, whose mind was still reeling from what had transpired just moments before, was not amused.  From where he lay on the carpet, England watched as France glared at America, huffed angrily, and left the scene.

After the World conference (which had quickly dissolved into its normal discord, as usual), England and Japan went for a walk in a nearby park to catch up on old times.  The two ended up resting on a bench while Japan showed England all the pictures he had taken that day.  There were pictures of literally almost everyone.  As Japan was scrolling through the photos, one of them caught England’s attention.  “Wait a tick, could I see that one again?”

“Of course.”  Japan returned to the specified picture; England now realized that it was the picture of him and France from earlier.  Except now, he noticed, whereas France was blowing a kiss as expected, England himself was slightly smiling at the Frenchman with a blush.  ‘That’s odd,’ the Brit thought, as he couldn’t recall making that particular facial expression.  Although…

“Hey, Japan, may I have a copy of that picture?”  England asked.

“If you wish.  Pardon me for asking, but why do you want it?”

“N-no reason.”

“I see.”  Japan wasn’t worried.  He knew exactly why he wanted it.

So when England arrived home, an envelope from Japan with multiple copies of the requested picture inside was waiting in the mailbox.  He took them out and spread them out on his kitchen table, wondering what to do with them; in fact, asking for them in the first place had been on an impulse.  He repackaged them and dropped them off in his room to peer over later.  As he was leaving, his eyes fell upon an object sitting on his dresser, a gift from France that he had received one day in the past.

~~~

_After the G8 meeting that was being held in Japan, England decided to unstress himself by visiting a park filled with cherry blossom trees.  It was springtime, so the soft pink leaves drifted around his head.  As he intended, England felt himself relaxed by the serene sight of the scenery around him.  However, his vision suddenly went dark._

_“Guess who~” A voice sang right next to England’s ear._

_England jumped away, cheeks turning pink due to the speaker’s warm breath tickling his earlobe.  “What the-France!  What the bloody-”_

_France stepped up and draped his arms around England’s waist.  “Bonjour, Angleterre~”_

_“Hey!  Let go of me, frog!”_

_“But can’t I just hold you?  You looked so peaceful I couldn’t resist,” France responded, resting his head on England’s shoulder.  England sputtered in protest, but soon gave up and resumed his watch of the nature around him, as well as unconsciously leaning into France’s embrace._

_The tranquil silence was broken by France announcing, “I have something for you, Angleterre~”_

_The mentioned nation craned his neck to look at the Frenchman behind him.  “What?”_

_France grinned.  “Close your eyes.”_

_“Oh I am_ not _falling for that, you wanker!”  England scowled, pulling away from France._

_“Sil vous plait?”_

_“No!”_

_France frowned and looked at the ground, scuffing the toes of his shoes in the grass.  England didn’t know the Frenchman would be affected that much; he felt rather guilty thinking about it…_

_“…Fine, I’ll do it,” England relented, but upon seeing France smiling at him, he quickly added, “B-but you better not try anything or so help me…”_

_France just watched England expectantly, unfazed.  England sighed but closed his eyes anyway.  Second’s passed without movement, then a pair of gentle hands brushed against England’s neck (causing the Brit to involuntarily shiver – from the cold, he told himself), setting an even colder object around his neck.  When the hands disappeared, England opened his eyes and looked down to see…a necklace.  A golden chain with a heart-shaped charm of the same color._

_“It’s a locket.  Do you like it?”  France asked hopefully.  England pried open the charm, and sure enough, the hinges swung open to reveal the inside of an empty locket._

_“Why?”_

_“I saw it in the store and I thought of you so I bought it!”  France cheerfully replied.  England continued to stare at the locket with a blush on his face.  When he didn’t say anything back to France, the Frenchman’s smile faltered.  “That sounded stupid didn’t it._

_“I didn’t say that.”_

_France blinked.  “You don’t like my gift either, do you.”_

_“I didn’t say that!  Quit putting words in my mouth!”_

_“You_ do _like it!”  France exclaimed, eyes sparkling.  England didn’t have any time to respond as France picked him up in a hug and began to twirl him around in circles._

_“H-hey!  Put me down!”  England protested, face turning green.  France did as told, still grinning.  Still nauseous, England lost his footing and stumbled into the Parisian in front of him, and said Parisian caught him and held him upright._

_“Are you alright?”  France asked, his broad grin melting into a soft smile._

_England hummed in affirmation.  France pulled England a step towards him, and it was then that England finally realized the two were extremely close.  Yet he also found that he didn’t want to pull away…In a trance, England wrapped his arms around France’s waist looked up into France’s baby blue eyes, the ones that also were fixated on the emerald orbs before them.  Gradually, England began to lean forward, as did France, while their heads tilted in opposite directions and their eyes slowly slid shut._

_“_ **I’M THE HERO!** _”_

_Eyes snapped wide open, England and France violently repelled, like two similarly charged atoms brought close together.  They both fell to the ground.  England tried to catch his breath, but the lingering feeling from when their lips ghosted against each other was making it near impossible._

_“I-I’ll be going now,” he stuttered with a cherry-red face, trying to ignore the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.  He practically bolted from the scene; as he left, he thought he heard a “stupide américain” being muttered spitefully from behind him._

_~~~_

Ever since that day, England knew that he _should_ get rid of the locket, since it _did_ come from France, but he couldn't bring himself to do it... _because_ it was from France.  It was a dilemma. 

Just then, inspiration struck.  He finally knew what to do with both the locket _and_ the photos!  England snatched one of the photos and the locket itself from his desk and, sliding them carefully into the pocket of the jacket he was flinging on, ventured as quickly as he could to the nearest store that could help him with his plan. 

He rushed up to the nearest employee and asked them if they could shrink his picture in order for it to fit inside his locket.  Luckily, they could, and a lengthy (to him) waiting time and a couple of dollar bills later, England left the store one of the best moods he'd ever been in for a while.

* * *

 

England hadn't realized that he was speaking aloud until he glimpsed France staring back at him with a forlorn expression. 

"...What?”  England asked, still embarrassed about spilling his inner feelings to France of all people. 

France said nothing; he simply looked back at the locket in his hand.  England watched as France clenched it in his fist and brought it to his forehead, with his eyes squeezed shut. 

"France?  A-are you alright?”  The question flew out of his mouth before he could stop it.  "N-not that I care or anything," he quickly added, though he was still concerned.  The man looked like he was going to burst into tears or something.  But he was proven wrong when France abruptly glared at his fist before turning and whipping the locket it contained at the other wall.  He stood there taking deep breaths, while England watched in shock. 

France raised his head and gave England a large smirk.  "So you _do_ love me~!”  He cooed eerily, slowly advancing toward the Brit. 

"Ah...well...”  England stammered.  France bent over to steal another long kiss from Englishman before reaching under the bed and dragging out a box. 

"What are you doing?”  England asked after seeing France disappear from his line of sight.

"People always have the most interesting things under their beds.  Like Germany and his porn, for example!”  He chirped in response. 

'So that's what that box under there was,' England realized, thinking back to when he first arrived at Germany's house.

"Aha!”  France cheered.  "This will work much better!”  He stood up (England saw that he'd taken off his cloak) and, brandishing a long, white cloth, sat next to England's chest. 

"I'm going to miss seeing those séduisant emeralds of yours," he remarked with a sigh.  Lifting England's head, he swiftly tied the blindfold over the Briton's eyes.  He laughed at England's protests.  "Onhonhon, but Angleterre, this is the surprise you've been waiting for~!”  He swung his legs around and perched on top of England. 

England, meanwhile, was feeling rather conflicted; on one hand, he was glad he didn't have to see France's crazed facial expressions anymore, but on the other hand he wasn't able to see what France was doing.  Even now, he couldn't tell because France had decided to clam up and stop moving.  He just felt a weight on his torso and chest. 

"France?”  He tentatively called out.  No response.  England's stomach twisted into a knot.  "This isn't funny, France!”  He panicked.  "Show yourself, or-" England gasped as treat clamped around his neck.  He was pretty sure they broke through the skin. 

"Angleterre, you're bleeding!”  He heard France mock gasp in horror before bending back down to suck on the wound.  In this manner he continued, biting and kissing and leaving hickeys in the wake of his path around England's smooth, pale neck.  England's arms twitched, as if to reach up and push the Frenchman away from him, but alas, the ripe restraining him held strong. 

"France...”  England moaned.  "France, please..."

A pair of lips imprisoned his own for what seemed like the hundredth time.  "Oui?"

England tried to protest, but all that cane out was another moan as France ran his hands across his chest. 

"Why...why are you doing this?”  England finally panted. 

France paused.  "Eh bien...I want you," he said, and England's heartbeat sped up in excitement despite the context of the statement.  France went on, "I want you, and I couldn't get you in any other way - I tried everything, even marriage didn't work!  - so I'm keeping you here so I can have you any time I want you."

"But this is _rape_!"

"Well you know what they say: rape is just surprise sex you didn't know you wanted~"

England was disappointed to realize that France had a point (regarding this specific situation, anyway). 

France gave a smirk, knowing that he'd win, and his rape face reappeared, betraying his impure thoughts.  But again, England's blindfold prevented him from swung either expression, which worried him, because he could feel France's eyes boring into his face.  Which, in fact, proved to be a distraction, as France took the opportunity to unceremoniously shove his hands down England's pants - or boxers, if one would rather be specific; and England couldn't prevent himself from letting out a loud moan with almost every movement France made while rummaging around under the fabric.

"See, Angleterre~!  I knew you would like the surprise~!"

England let out another strangled moan, arching his hips toward the hand that toyed with them.  France chuckled and inched the waistband of the boxers downwards, and the regained knowledge of his inability to prevent the mistreatment of his vital regions for the hundredth time manifested itself as salty tears that soaked the interior of England's blindfold. 

*BANG!*

A sound akin to a gunshot pierced through the air, followed by a series of clatters against an unknown surface.  France's hand slid away from England's length as the Frenchman turned and started talking to someone behind him, who answered in a familiar-sounding deep voice.  France's calm conversing evolved into yelling, and in a flash, England felt a sudden loss of body heat; he assumed that France had left.  But another pair of hands met his cheeks, and he stiffened. 

"It’s okay, England," a soothing voice reassured, its soft volume somehow overpowering France's shouts in the background.  England forced himself to relax as the hands (cooler, gentler that France's) untied the knot of the blindfold abs pulled the cloth away.  Blinking, England's eyes adjusted to the light and made out a figure; someone who he initially thought to be America, but America doesn’t have France's hair or a mark on his cheek, does he?

"Canada?”  England guessed. 

The Canadian nation gave the Brit a warm smile and a nod before reaching over and swiftly untying one of the ropes holding England captive.  As Canada got to work on another set of bindings, England flexed his left arm experimentally, noting its soreness.  A flash of red caught his eye (it turned out to be the skin around his wrist, chafed from struggling against the rope.  He absentmindedly prodded at the skin before realizing with a jolt that his other hand was free as well, with its wrist as angry of a red as the other.  England, in his excitement, quickly sat up, only to fall back again after his stomach churned and he saw three of everything. 

"No England, sit up slower," Canada told him, pausing in his work to gently guide England into a sitting position. 

"How did you get in here?”  England asked. 

"The door."

"But how?  The doorknob wouldn't work!"

"Who said we used the doorknob?”  Canada gestured to a spot on the floor.  England looked over and spotted his bedroom door flung off its hinges, sporting a large debt. 

"Who...?"

Canada now pointed to a corner of the room.  England supposed that he probably should have noticed the tall, muscular, blonde-haired, blue-eyed German in the room, but he digressed. 

England's legs were soon freed, and Canada helped him swing into a sitting position in the edge of the bed.  As he watched Germany wrestle France, his mind finally caught up with what was going on and he realized that the cycle was finally broken.  He was free.  But despite this, he was still worried that this was an illusion and in the blink of an eye, everything would disappear and it would be just him and France, alone and doomed to repeat the same moments over and over again for eternity. 

"...You ruined everything!”  France's yell pierced England's thoughts.  "Everything was perfect and you ruined it!" 

"Perfect?”  Germany snapped.  "And pray tell what goal would make something like this perfect?" 

"He's mine!”  France shot back.  "I had him; I finally made him mine!  And then you’re just taking him away like nothing!" 

"You _wanted_ him?  Are you serious?  Did you ever consider that this way was wrong?  _That you were hurting him in your selfish efforts?!_ ”  Germany tightened his grip on the Frenchman.

"N-no, but-"

" **No?** ”  Germany's face contorted in fury.  " **If you thought that you…you could lovehim, Gott forbid, in this way, then your efforts have gone to waste!  Do you really think he is going to love you the same way you love him after this?  Well, don’t get your hopes up, dummkopf, because he _won’t._ Thanks to you, from now on when he looks at you he’ll see only a monster. A merciless beast that instills fear and misery.  A creature that can never.  Be.  Loved.**”

“No!  I-I didn’t mean it like that, I-”

“It doesn’t matter.”  Germany growled.  He pulled France’s arms farther behind his back, making him cry out in pain. “What’s done is done.  And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“ **Shut up!**   Just let me go, I can fix it I know I can!  Let me go, Germany you bâtard!  Let me go, let me g-go…”  France’s voice cracked, and he started to sob.  Germany glared at him, and prepared to dish out another verbal punch.

“Germany.”

The mentioned nation turned to look at England, whose arm was slightly outstretched towards the pair.  The Brit’s next words surprised even himself.  “Leave him be.”  The phrase had a tint of authority.

Germany stared at England, considering the order he’d been given.  Finally, he scoffed, turning his head, and roughly shoved France away from him.  The Frenchman collided with the wall and collapsed onto his knees. The room was silent aside from France’s whimpers.

"Iggy!!”  Fast, steady pounding grew closer until it stopped and America stood in the doorway with a face of panic.  Japan came next with a much calmer entrance, and finally Prussia bounded in, noticeably the cheeriest.  Giving England a wink, the Prussian clapped a hand on his irritated brother's shoulder and laughing, led him out. 

"Did you call them?”  Canada asked Japan, who nodded in return.  Silently, the two started to leave. 

"Wait, where are you going?”  England panicked. 

Japan turned and smiled.  "Our work here is done.  We have no further reason to be here." 

"B-But-"

"You'll be safe.  Don't worry.”  Canada pushed America forward and left with Japan.  America almost fell over but otherwise have no reaction.  However, his thoughts were whirling around in his head like a violent storm.  And in the center of it all, was the simple idea of his failure.  What kind of hero was he, if he let someone close to him get hurt like this?  With thoughts of this nature, he berated himself as his eyes took in the colorful bruises and bite marks on the skin of England's chest and neck. 

England's view of the still-crying France was interrupted by a curtain of brown hanging in front of his face.  America's bomber jacket. 

"Here," the American said, his face unreadable.  England put the jacket on. It was more comfortable that he thought it would be, and he was glad to have something to cover himself with besides these boxers (that he was so going to burn later.  Along with these bed sheets.  And the mattress.  And the bedframe…).  Though America was still watching him with the guiltiest expression on his face.  England sighed.

“It’s okay,” England murmured.

“Okay?”  America repeated in disbelief.  “It’s not okay!  I let you get hurt like this!  It’s my fault; I’m not-”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I could’ve been the hero and stopped it!”

“You didn’t know it was happening.”

“But I should’ve!”

“What’s done is done,” England echoed Germany’s earlier words.  “I think…I’ll be alright.”  ‘Maybe.’

America nodded slowly, still not convinced.  England sighed again.

“Look,” he started.  “Heroes…they always seem to show up after all the bad things have happened. They stay, and help clean up.  So that’s what you can do.”

America nodded again.

England’s attention returned to France; the man had gone quiet, but his shoulders still shook as tears streamed down his face.  The Brit slid off the bed to stand, but he stumbled from the misuse of his legs. America caught England and set him upright.

“I’m going to talk to France.”

Words were making a habit of leaping out of his mouth without warning.

“What?!”  America shouted.  “Are you crazy?!”

England quickly shushed the American.  “I know, but…I just want to talk to him.”

“After all he’s done?  Forget it, I’m not gonna let you-”

“You can protect me.”  England interrupted.  “You're here now, so if anything goes wrong you can be the hero and…save me,” he finished, just so America would get off his back.  He didn’t know why, but he really wanted to talk to the Frenchmen without being disturbed. 

America gave England a small smirk.  “Well I am the hero,” he boasted.  “…I guess you can talk to him…”

England smiled back.  He stumbled over to France, who was still on his knees, clutching what England recognized as his previously discarded locket. England kneeled in front of him.  “France…”

The nation looked up in surprise.  “A-Angleterre?”  Their eyes locked.

The presence of England so close to him caught France off guard. Germany’s speech struck a chord in him, he knew, and France himself was forced to agree with everything the man said. What he had done to England (the man that…that he could probably say that he…he loved) in his madness was the most barbaric and unforgivable act anyone could ever do, and the very fact that he _did_ do it, over and over again, made him sick to his stomach. France was all ready to be taken to jail and never have the affections of his beloved Briton ever again.  So when said Briton approached him, and looked him dead in the eye, an irrational hope grew that maybe England _didn’t_ hate him as much as he thought.  Though it was irrational because _of course_ England hated France for raping him and _of course_ he was probably doing this to deliver a justice speech of something and _of course_ England didn’t share the same feelings and was going to go live happily ever after with American as his lover and bodyguard because _clearly_ that obnoxious brute was  muchbetter than _this_ piece of shit he had turned himself into.

England didn't know _what_ he was thinking, getting so close to the man who had raped him.  But there was something tugging at the back of his mind, telling him that he needed to check up on the Frenchman.  And when he looked into the other's eyes, England realized that while he knew he was supposed to be angry with France for what he did, in his heart...he wasn't.  He knew he should be yelling or cowering away from him, or maybe beating the snot out of France now that he had the chance, but all his words were trapped in his throat, and he was frozen in place by France's pleading gaze, making him unable to pull the first punch.  The malice and fear he should have felt was eclipsed by a mysterious emotion, the one that had been coursing through his veins for what seemed like an eternity beforehand (and surprisingly still is), that England now knew to be a newly realized _love_ of all things.  It seemed completely unrealistic - how could pure love overcome the emotions tied to a horrendous event such as this one?  - but it was still there.  Perhaps it was because he knew it was a dream, or maybe these emotions ran deeper than he realized. 

"I-you...you didn't have to do this," England got out, resting a hand on France's shoulder.  America tensed up behind him, but England paid me heed.  The pieces finally fit together.  This was not a man who just wanted a cruel way to quell his raging, out-of-control hormones, but a man filled with frustration and desperation about not being able to get what, or whom, he wanted, and just went through extreme measures to try to get it - and in this case, _he_ was the apple of France's eye.  Although, in this case the apple would probably be a rose...

France stiffened as England's hand rested on his shoulder.  Why was he touching him?  Didn't he know he was an unlovable criminal?  Was he finally realizing that and acting on it?  Though France didn't voice these questions aloud for fear of losing England's (surprisingly gentle) touch, the touch he had been craving for centuries.  He suddenly remembered the locket he clutched in his hand, the gift dented and scratched from its collision with the wall, a collision that France regretted causing with each passing second.  Perhaps if he gave it back...

England's eyes flickered to his other hand, where something cool was being pressed.  It was the locket, he realized, but why would he give it back?  He was curious, but at the same time, he didn't really care.  His and France's fingers began to intertwine around the jewelry, while their gazes reunited. 

France became lost in the bright emerald orbs he knew and loved, the ones that could fling in anger and glitter in happiness like a cave filled with the green gems as the light shined on it throughout the day.  He decided that the soft glow he was seeing now was better than when shadows if fear shaded them before.  He was glad he could see them one last time before he had to...

Looking into France's eyes was like staring into the blue sky, England decided.  Or maybe it was like being in the ocean: free and relaxed, letting the wind, or the waves, guide him bathe warm look in the Frenchman's eyes suited him much better than the desperation and madness that clouded those orbs before (aside from the slivers of trepidation, of course).  He was glad he was able to see them one last time before he had to...

Banishing the thought of separation from their minds, the two men remained focused on each other and only each other, becoming oblivious to the world around them. 

They didn't notice when a car pulled out of the driveway and sped away.

They didn't notice when America relaxed, gaining a distinct gut feeling that England would be okay. 

They didn't notice when flashing red and blue lights shined through the window. 

They didn't notice when America left the room. 

They didn't notice when America opened the door and spoke loudly with the people outside. 

They didn't notice when one of the men called up the stairs for an arrest and a peaceful surrender. 

They didn't notice when a pounding against the floorboards grew louder and faster. 

They didn't notice when America and two officers burst into the room, nor did they notice the puzzled looks from the officers. 

They didn't notice when America faded away. 

They didn't notice when the officers faded away either. 

They didn't notice when the door, dresser, bed, everything around them faded away to a white expanse if nothingness. 

They vaguely noticed when the locket slipped from their grasps, dangling from a finger if two hands that were tightly clasped together as if their lives depended in it. 

They vaguely noticed when England's hand rose from France's shoulder to his cheek. 

They vaguely noticed when the distance between them shrunk. 

They vaguely noticed when their eyes slid shut. 

They noticed when their lips collided. 


	9. Chapter 9

England briskly entered the World Conference Building after parking his car nearby.  On his way to the Conference Room, he collided with something in the hallways.  It was America.  The two men awkwardly stared at each other. 

"Good morning, America," England said, moving to pass the American. 

As if a light switch was flipped, America's face went from a fearful hopefulness to an extreme happiness. 

"Iggy!”  America hugged the Brit. "You talked to me~!"

"Wh-what?"

"Everyone else said that I couldn't talk to you 'cause if you nightmares and stuff and now you've talked to me so I can be the hero and save you so you'll be okay!  Are you okay?"

"I _will_ be when you put me down!”  America had lifted England well off the ground in his excitement.  So America set England on his feet before sprinting away, cheering loudly about his encounter.  England hesitantly followed the American down the rest of the hallway to the Conference Room's wide open doors.

"England~" Italy hugged the Brit and dragged him over to where the rest of the Axis were. 

'I sure have become popular lately, haven't I,' England thought dryly to himself. 

"Guten Morgen, England," Germany greeted. 

"Konnichiwa, England-san. Have you run into any problems while staying in your home?"

Actually, not at all.”  Sure, there was a bit of trouble getting used to being in his bedroom without fear of France jumping him, but he figured that after that last dream things would be better, that since France was apprehended in the dream he didn't have anything to worry about.  Odd logic, yes, but to him it made sense.  It was the reason he moved back to his own house in the first place. 

"Awesome~" Prussia interjected before resuming his conversation with Spain. 

Romano rolled his eyes.  "What's wrong with you, fratellino, dragging other bastards over here?  People have better things to do."

"But fratello-"

"I don't mind," England interrupted the impending argument. 

Romano huffed, but was secretly glad that England didn't leave, as he had taken a small (platonic) liking to the Englishman. 

Meanwhile, America was talking animatedly with the other Allies about his encounter with England. 

"That's great, bro," Canada congratulated.  America grinned back. 

"I wonder what brought about this change, aru?”  China wondered. 

"I dunno," America shrugged.  "But it's awesome!"

"Yeah...awesome," France commented.

"Guess what~!”  Russia said after unexplained and unnoticed absence from the group.  "I talked with Germany and he said that I'd we choose, we can keep our seats from the last World Conference, or, since comrade England is more comfortable around the capitalist pig, he and I could switch places-"

"Ooh!  I wanna sit next to Iggy!  Can we switch, can we switch?”  America excitedly asked, ignoring Russia's earlier quip.

Russia gave him a perplexed look.  "...Fine" he relented.  America cheered and ran to glomp England, rambling about his seating change.  The Brit gave a half-smile to the American, who somehow got even more excited.  Canada sighed and went to pry his brother away from the quickly suffocating Brit. Russia wandered away to go way hi to the Baltics, leaving France and China. 

France watched England scold America for something else he had done, and sighed.

China glanced over at the Frenchman.  "What is it, aru?"

France smiled sadly.  "Oh, it's nothing.  It's just that...well green really isn't my color, no?"

"You know you can't rush this," China responded. 

"Oui, but that doesn't keep me from wishing..."

He, along with the other nations, settled into his designated seat just as the clock struck nine.  America had taken his seat next to England, and was talking to him a mile a minute, trying to get in as many words a possible before Germany began the meeting.  France was left staring into space, deeply thinking to himself all thrift the meeting, occasionally glancing over to England's perfect rosy cheeks...

* * *

 

Germany had called a break in the meeting a little while earlier, and England found himself in the hallways, trying to stay away from the others so the United States of Annoying wouldn't find him and talk his ear off, that git.  Honestly, just because he _could_ talk to him didn't mean he _had_ to.  As he stormed through the halls, it dawned on him that he actually recognized this part of the building - it was the same area where he first talked with Germany about his major ordeal.  He idly wondered if that old Conference Room was still there, then chastised himself because it wasn't as if the room could _go_ anywhere.  Nonetheless, England's ridiculous question was answered, as he soon came across the looming doors of the spare Conference Room.  Curious, he pushed at the doors until they cracked open to reveal an expanse of darkness.  England ventured inside; he fumbled for the light switch and flipped it on as fast as he could because the darkness put him at unease.  The Brit wandered to the center of the room, lost in thought. 

"Angl-Britain?"

England whirled around and saw France just as the Frenchman shut the doors behind him.  England panicked.  He didn't want to confront France _now_!  He wasn't even sure if he wanted to talk to him at all! 

France was surprised to see England away from that American.  He would have thought the Brit wouldn't have left his side...but he was glad he found him alone; he wanted to talk to him.  Though by the look on England's face, England didn't feel the same way.  France took a small step towards England.  England remained still.  Taking that as a good sign, France continued to walk slowly towards England, not once looking away from the Brit's face.  When France was just an arm's length away, England quickly took steps away from the advancing Frenchman.  Crestfallen, but not discouraged; France stayed in his place, knowing that if he kept moving toward England then the Briton would find a way to run away from him like last time. 

"Wh-what do you want?”  England nervously asked.  They _were_ the only two in the room, after all. 

"I just...want to apologize, okay?”  France admitted.  "I don't know why the...nightmare version of me did what he did but I would like to apologize on his behalf.  And I would like to let you know that's would never, ever do something like that in real life to you."

'But you don't need to apologize,’ England almost said.  'I know why he did it.  And that wasn't you to begin with.  I know you would never do that.’  He almost blurted it out, but he didn't.  The warm feeling coursing through his chest was too distracting.  So distracting, in fact, that England didn't notice France was moving into the man was right in front of him.  He immediately put his guard up; France could still go against his word.  But he need not have worried, because France just stood there, waiting for England to make the next move; just watching him, with eyes that took England back to the dream world, facing the broken France, and watching as his eyes gradually shifted from fear to affection the longer the two stared into each other's eyes.  And it seemed that just like in the dream, England felt no fear as he stood in front of France; he simply felt a warmth that he felt throughout his body.  He lips involuntarily tilted into a tiny smile. 

Then, out of the blue, England felt a hand cup his chin.  The Brit stiffened, which seemed to make the grip - France's grip - loosen even more.  England's head was tilted to the side, and something soft and gentle pressed against England's cheek for a brief instant before pulling away. 

England hurriedly stumbled backwards, away from France.  "Wh-what the hell - why did you -" he sputtered, hand flying to his cheek, which was as red as the rest of his face.  "You bloody _frog_!”  He managed to say. 

France blinked in surprise before bursting into loud laughter.  England's face turned an even deeper shade of red.

"What's so funny?”  England snapped. 

France ceased his laughing and grinned at the Englishman in front of him.  "Ah, there's the Britain I know and love~"

It seemed as just as England’s blush had a chance to recede, it decided to come back at full force.  " _Love?_ What do you mean _love?_ "

France chuckled again.  "Come on Britain, we don't want to be late for the meeting~"

"You still need to answer my question," England huffed.  France didn't say anything more, instead opting to take England's hand from where it remained on his cheek and use it to lead the Briton back to the Conference Room.  England's gaze found their clasped hands, choosing not to comment on it and leave it be. 

* * *

 

All too soon, England felt, the two men reached the Conference Room doors.  England reached for the doorknob but France stopped him.  Letting go of England's hand (to England's surprising disappointment),   He dramatically opened the door and bowed.  "After you~"

England stared at him.  "What the hell are you doing?"

"Being a gentleman, of course!”  France replied, looking up at England.  "I would have thought you knew all about that!" 

England turned away so France couldn't see his rapidly spreading blush.  "Sh-shut up.  Get in here, you idiot.”  England yanked France's outstretched hand and pulled him into the room, which was empty, save for Germany and Canada.  England parted from France to speak with Germany, while Canada and France made small talk.  Soon America, Russia, and China wandered into the room, America loudly bemoaning the absence of his favorite Englishman.  However, when he caught sight of said Englishman with Germany, his vague, slightly misguided sense of heroism kicked into overdrive and, yelling about how he was going to "save Iggy," he ran up and tackled Germany, sending them both to the ground.  The two wrestled for a bit before Germany pushed America's (rather heavy) form off him. 

"What the hell was that for?”  Germany yelled, annoyed. 

America ignored him.  "HAHAHA!  I, the hero, have just braved the impossible elements and faced the greatest dangers to defeat the evil Nazi and save damsel-in-distress!”  The American proclaimed in a booming announcer's voice. 

The other countries present sweatdropped, except for a very livid England. 

" _Damsel?_   I am not a bloody _girl_ , you git!"

France laughed and slung an arm around the Brit's shoulders.  "I don't know, you could probably pass off as one - well, aside from those monstrueux eyebrows of yours~"

England shoved France away.  "Sod off!”  He stomped over to the table and plopped into a chair.

"Ah...he's in the wrong seat, I think.”  Russia said. 

"About that...”  Germany sat up.  "I apologize for all the sudden changes today, but England has just told me that he doesn't mind if you return to your normal seats - as in the ones that you were _originally_ assigned to."

"Dude, really?”  America exclaimed.  "Are you trolling us, man?"

"No!  I don't even know what that means!"

"Aw, sweet!”  America ran over to his new (old?) seat. 

"Yay~ I get to sit next to China again~ I missed you, China~"

"...Germany, aru, can I switch seats?"

"No."

China sighed.  "I feel violated already, aru.”  He reluctantly trudged to his seat.

Other nations filed into the Conference room and took their seats.  France was in fact the last to sit down on the other side of England, and the meeting resumed.  It was going rather well, until America decided to explain how he was going to take care of North Korea. 

"So, basically we're gonna use my genetically-engineered superhero to infiltrate their bordered and kill every last trace of communism in that villainous country!”  He summarized with a blinding smile and a heroic pose.  He was lucky that North Korea wasn't coming to these meetings. 

Before Russia could get in a quip about America's antagonism towards communism, England rolled his eyes and commented, "First of all, it’s not ‘gonna’, it’s _going to_ , you git, and second of all, that's the stupidest idea yet.  Completely unrealistic.”  He took a sip of his tea, whose spontaneous origin was unknown to everyone but England himself. 

"Ha!”  France scoffed.  " _That's_ stupid?  You've done some pretty idiotic things before; remember when you tried to use your ridiculous 'black magic' to curse Allemagne?"

"Wait, _what_?”  Germany protested, though it went unheard. 

"Black magic is _not_ ridiculous!  It exists!”  England fumed. 

"Sure, and those 'friends' of yours are real too."

"Why you-" England stood up in his rage.  "Flying Mint Bunny is _too_ real!  You're just jealous that I even _have_ magic, and that it’s the best in all of Europe!"

"Oh, like your military?"

England had to process France's comment to find the insult this time.  "Hey!”  He finally exclaimed.  "Damn you!”  The two men were butting heads now.  "Well, what about _your_ military, huh?"

" _My_ military is the best in Europe!"

"And I bet all your French military victories attest to that, you surrender monkey!"

France's eyes glinted with annoyance (but a bit of excitement, too), but he casually took a step back and crossed his arms. 

"Well, at least I can cook, black sheep of Europe." 

England swore and tackled France, punching him in the face.  France retaliated with his own counterattack, and their usual scuffling began.  America and Russia began betting on who was going to win the fight, and the rest of the room quickly fell prey to chaos.

Germany sighed and put his head on the table, making an unusual decision not to try to get the room back to normal.  He was done, or at least for now; he was king of glad that England came back to his senses, and besides, he didn't feel up to up to yelling at the top of his lungs today.  He had no energy - he was up late last night. 

Japan was confused.  Hadn't England been trying to _avoid_ France all his time?  He guessed that the meeting break had something to do with this.  Perhaps France was able to find England and talk to him long enough to convince the Brit that he had nothing to fear?  He sighed, deep in thought while watching France and England fight (as well as an Italy poking a motionless Germany out of the corner of his eye)

"Aiyah!  Calm down, aru!  Germany is going to throw a fit; he'll kill you two, aru!"

"...Da~ Or maybe he'll kill himself first~"

"Gah!  He's already dead dudes!"

"Ve!!!"

"You imbecile!  He's not _dead_ , he's sleeping!"

"Why the hell is the potato bastard _sleeping_?"

"Kesesese~ he said that he was up late with Itachen~"

"What the-"

"Onhonhonhonhon~"

"Shut up!  Get your worthless pretty head out of the gutter, you bloody pervert!"

"You think I'm pretty~?"

"Britannia Fork!"

"Ahh!  My beautiful face!"

"Maple..."

Watching this, Japan couldn't help but think that this whole ordeal, from start to finish, played out almost like one of his animes.  Or maybe like one of those FanFictions.  He idly wondered if he could make a doushinji out of this...

**To Be Continued... _maybe..._**

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Stupid America](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947092) by [orphan_account](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account)




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